OMG, It's Damian!
It was freezing cold and blustery. Perfect weather for walking across the Brooklyn Bridge
The tourists stay away. And, that makes the bicyclists happy. Less people posing for pictures. And, that makes me very happy, particularly when I'm in a hurry.
I was on my way back from Bowling Green, my head and dreads covered by a hood. Snot was beginning to freeze under my nose, when I spotted a lone bicyclist headed in my direction. We were mid-stream and the guy (funny how few female bicyclists there are on the bridge) was bearing down on the pedals at full height, trying to make it up the crest of the boardwalk before he could glide downhill again.
And then, I did my Robo-Cop thing, as I think I have done unconsciously with every biker I spot on a city street for the past four years: click, click, whirrr. Lock on Subject. Nineteen points of similarity to Damian. Bingo.
I could have been wrong. It could have been some other tall drink of water perched on a fifteen speed bike, in which case it would have been rude to stare the I was doing. But, something about the coloring, the hint of bluish gray against the windburned skin told me to maintain eye contact.
He was doing the same thing and had actually pedaled past me before he could brake and shout, "Ronnie!"
We must have compressed about a year's worth of Co-co sessions into ten minutes, there on the Brooklyn Bridge.
The tourists stay away. And, that makes the bicyclists happy. Less people posing for pictures. And, that makes me very happy, particularly when I'm in a hurry.
I was on my way back from Bowling Green, my head and dreads covered by a hood. Snot was beginning to freeze under my nose, when I spotted a lone bicyclist headed in my direction. We were mid-stream and the guy (funny how few female bicyclists there are on the bridge) was bearing down on the pedals at full height, trying to make it up the crest of the boardwalk before he could glide downhill again.
And then, I did my Robo-Cop thing, as I think I have done unconsciously with every biker I spot on a city street for the past four years: click, click, whirrr. Lock on Subject. Nineteen points of similarity to Damian. Bingo.
I could have been wrong. It could have been some other tall drink of water perched on a fifteen speed bike, in which case it would have been rude to stare the I was doing. But, something about the coloring, the hint of bluish gray against the windburned skin told me to maintain eye contact.
He was doing the same thing and had actually pedaled past me before he could brake and shout, "Ronnie!"
We must have compressed about a year's worth of Co-co sessions into ten minutes, there on the Brooklyn Bridge.