Contrary Conditions at the GWB

Sunday, after my Saturday paddle out to the Narrows, I spent some time with the other club I'm a member of, the Inwood Canoe Club.

I went out with Mark and Steve when the current was just past max ebb. The wind was blowing north, so as you would expect, there were some fun waves as the wind pushed against the current.

Of course, this also meant that coming back was a little more challenging. We hewed to the shore to stay out of the current. However, coming around the rocky point below the Manhattan-side tower of the  bridge, I got caught in a bizarre situation: sizable waves pushing from the west and south, while the current conspired to slurp me back out. I was literally paddling in place despite some very strong forces pushing me in three directions.

I dug in my spurs and powered through. It took more than a little effort, but I got past the eddy line and continued paddling up. I have to say, these conditions were rougher than anything I experienced in the harbor. This belies the reputation of the upper reaches of the Hudson being as smooth as a glass lake.

Ferryboat Binghamton

One of the regular sites I pass when I paddle north is the ferryboat Binghamton. It's a retired ferry, former restaurant, national historic place, and now a wreck, just south of Edgewater Marina.

For years, the river folklore was this: It was an old ferry that was retired, used as a restaurant briefly, and then gutted by a fire, laying mortally wounded in the water ever since. That's the basic truth, but the full story is much more interesting.

I culled most of the details from Wikipedia; librarians be forewarned.

The Binghamton was a steam-powered ferry, one of the first roll-on/roll-off style to plough New York Waters. Built in 1905, she was one of six that carried traffic across the water in New York City. SHe was built for the Hoboken Ferry Company, and spent most of her time ferrying passengers from Hoboken to Barclay Street in lower Manhattan.

As alternate methods of crossing the mighty Hudson were developed - the Holland Tunnel, the George Washington Bridge, the Lincoln Tunnel - ferry service diminished, and the company ceased ferry operations in 1967. The ferries were put up for sale, and a local developer bought the Binghamton to set up as a restaurant near Edgewater.

Unfortunately those plans did not come to fruition, due to delays and difficulties dredging the berth and getting the boat in position. Therefore, the Binghamton was sold to another developer seeking to turn her into a restaurant, and after some renovations, she operated as such for more than twenty years. In 1982, she was added to the National Resister of Historic Places.

Here is where another interesting story intersects: Nelson G. Gross: state assemblyman, US Attorney, Nixon crony, convicted felon ad, eventually, manager of the Binghamton.

By his late twenties, Gross had obtained a divorce from his first wife, maried a Guggenheim heiress, joined the local Republican Party, and been elected to NJ General Assembly. He supported Nixon in the Republican primary, and following his victory, Gross worked in various government and Party positions until, after losing a run for the Senate and working as an appointee in the State Department, he returned to private practice.

Shortly after Nixon resigned, however, Gross' role in the election of NJ Governor Cahill was investigated, and he was sentenced to two years of prison for, basically, campaign finance fraud, and after serving six months, he was released in 1977, whereupon he  managed a real estate business and the Binghamton restaurant.

In 1997, Gross was kidnapped, taken to the bank to forcibly withdraw money, and then murdered and dumped. Three young men from Washington Heights were convicted of the crime, one of whom had been a busboy at the Binghamton. Two were sentenced to thirty years, while the third got 17 as part of a plea agreement.

Despite his retirement from politics, gross' wife continued to be active in the Party, and she served as a member of the US delegation to the United Nations. His daughter published a memoir about his murder in 2007.

So - yeah. A lot more history than some crappy little ferry falling apart on the river. The Binghamton is over a hundred years old. She was an innovative vessel for the time. She served well as a restaurant, and was touched by a locally notorious political player and, sadly, crime victim. Her colors - the red white and blue - betray a more festive spirit the is belied by her current condition. If anyone can pony up the money to save her and fix her up, I hope they do. Till she succumbs to the elements, she'll always be a pleasant site on the water.

Windy Jaunt

Saturday I took a short trip with Mark, another volunteer. He has a folding boat (that, admittedly, he does not fold much). We decided to meet up earlier rather than later to try and catch some current north before it petered out and turned south.

We left shortly after the public trip. Our original plan was to go over to Jersey, and pass them, and basically chart our own course in parallel to them, but a steady breeze from the north made paddling up real work. We also wondered if the current changed early, or that we were in slack at least.By the time we reached the marina, just 20blocks from where we started, we found we would drift backwards if we stopped paddling.

At the marina, we admired this pretty ship, the Avalon.

And Mark took my picture. We'd traded cameras - me with his, him with mine - so we'd have cpictures of ourselves on our own cameras. So narcissistic!

 Up in the mooring fields north of the marina, we stopped and said hello to a couple of families who had sailed to NYC. The first (not pictured) was a French family taking two years off to sail. They had come here from France in their ship. At least, that's what they told us.

We caught up with the public trip, and paddled with them for a while. We can't resist helping out, or giving pointers. We caught up with a mutual friend who was with the trip. At one point, the assistant who was in the lead asked me to check on an orange boat coming up in our rearview. Turns out it was a paddler named Fiona, furiously flying up the river in an orange boat with a white strip drawn at an angle. She passed us and disappeared into the distance up ahead.

The second, pictured here, was a catamaran flying the German flag. This man said he and his family had taken four years off in order to sail around the world. I asked about the Euro 2012 (football, not the currency) and he said he didn't really follow it. A German man who does not follow foosball? Shocking!

In both cases. Mark congratulated them on not having to go into an office job every day.

By this point, we were ready to go back. We kew the tide would turn soon, and we weren't going to get anywhere interesting before we'd have to turn around with the current anyway.

Ging back was MUCH easier. With the current, we practically did not have to paddled. We could have ster-ruddered our the whole way back. instead, we stopped in at 72nd street, and then paddled under Pier I and past some old rail-transfer terminal. I took Mark's picture here.

Back at the boathouse, I took some time to go over the Argonaut again. Mostly I was re-packing some new gear I bought, stringing lights and tying things down with some line I had bought. In any ase, before we went in, we got some nice shots of the Argonaut in profile.

Biking

I rode my bike to work again this week; for the past two weeks, I've ridden twice a week, in part to make it easier to go to the boathouse after work. It's been awesome - even on a cool day like today, the ride in and back is beautiful along the Hudson, the sun high enough in the clear sky that the water looks almost blue, and I can see the tide's direction as far up as 125th street. 

The only down side of course is that I get to work a bit sweaty, dressed in bike clothes instead of work clothes, so I have to engage in a little Wonder Woman routine in the restroom. It also makes perfume practically moot unless I bring it in with me. That said, one I'm changed, I have a normal day at the office . . . until I head out and realize that instead of cramming into steel cars in underground tubes, I'll be gliding down a path along the river, earning and burning calories and enjoying a pleasant view.

This is exactly what I was thinking of when I bought my bike this past spring.

Sunday

I struggled, yet managed to wake up and out the door before 7 AM to get to the boathouse. I rode my bike on the now-familiar route: west to St Nicks', south to 125th, west to the river, then south along the bike path. Our guide was late, and quite a few people had arrived looking for the trip, and we had to hold a lottery to see who got to go. H was our trip leader, and N another volunteer. I got the public ready while they decided where to go and prepped their boats.

It was a gloomy, muggy day; rain was expected, and while it rained a bit before we left, we were spared precipitation on our trip. Due to the current, we headed south, and due to the ongoing recovery operations related to the air crash the day before, we stayed on the Manhattan side of the river.

Heading south along the Manhattan side is always interesting. From 56th street on down there is a lot of river traffic in general, and due to the cruise ships, the Intrepid, and the ventilation shafts for the Lincoln and Holland tunnels, there are lots of areas we have to give wide berth to.

One of our guests was a woman I recognized but couldn't place; I thought she had just been around the boathouse, but it turns out she was a PTA head from my early days at the Lyceum (the private school I worked at). She seemed in good spirits. She went through a very rough divorce. It's always interesting to see people years on from a rough period of their lives, and removed from the circumstances in which you met them.

We made it as far as Houston, where we have another little dock. We stopped to use the facilities and chat a bit, then headed back up. There was talk of crossing the river, but we decided based on time and effort that it wasn't worthwhile. We crossed in front of some ferry terminals - those Ikea ferries are fast, btw - and made it back.

I showered and rode my bike back home, where I finished puttering around the house. So many daily chores fall by the wayside when I am in school. Laundry from a week ago was finally put away, the floors swept and mopped, the skink cleaned out. I'm still catching up.

A short visit to church, then back home, where I watched a bad movie and just relaxed before going to bed.

Saturday

My first Saturday without classes due the coming week: I slept in, I puttered around the house, then I headed down to the Downtown Boathouse for our annual summer picnic.

I've taken to riding my bike there; from my apartment in Harlem, down 135th street to St. Nicholas, where a high, sloping park blocks further progress and I turn south towards 125th street. Around 127th or 126th, I dart right and navigate over rough streets, underneath the elevated 1 train, past Fairway, to a park on the river. The park is new, and decorated in a sort of Fireman's motif. Here, the city has managed to run a bike route all the way to Battery, and to points north of me. I cross in front of the highway exit and head down the narrow pedestrian/bike path.

This stretch along the river is beautiful. In short order, the highway veers away, and you're basically riding through a park, alongside a mile-wide river, just across from the high cliffs of the Jersey side. It's a pleasant paddle as well, I know from experience, gliding in a kayak to or from the George Washington Bridge, this stretch of the river mostly uncluttered by river traffic.

Once I get to 100th street, things get busier, but still parklike. More residential, the park is full of strollers and joggers and people hanging out. A long pedestrian esplanade has been built, overlooking the river and underlooking Upper West Side brownstones, until I curve down a ramp and onto the bike path from the low eighties onward. I pass the 79th street Boat Basin, or sometimes I turn up and head down the West Side Highway, either way eventually coming down around 60th street, past the sanitation pier, to the boathouse.

A pleasant crowd awaited. We were having our annual race; for the first time in years, the traditional winner is out of town, and the fugly trophy is up for grabs. I am competitive in spirit if not ability; pulled down a boat and got my gear together, and after some brief interactions with the public, headed out onto the water to get acclimated to the boat and line up for the race.

We were off! Up from 56th street to a marker buoy near 72nd. I broke strong, faded, then came back to a durable pace. I am not sure how I placed but I did well among women; the top ten I would say. The ultimate winner, however, was a white-hulled gig, one of two competing, a crew of four or five people all pulling together in unison to round the buoy and come back in time. They were very well machined.

Afterwards, a picnic, which we later opened up to the public. A logistical oversight resulted in fisticuffs; a senior woman, overburdened with an armful of paddles, bumped into a freeloader who took fierce umbrage and got physical; a young man of ours interceded, and received wounds to his chin, fists, and foot. we closed out the public and kept to ourselves, trying to enjoy the remains of the day.

Later, as the event wound down and I polished off angel cake, a cookie, another cake, and more, I gathered my gear and mounted my bicycle. Too early to go home, I rode south, past the Intrepid, along the highway, past the Javits, past the helicopter port, when I recall the terrible news of a mid-air collision earlier in the day. Further along, past Chelsea Piers, near 14th, I can see across the river, the police boats and fire boats, the ESU trucks, the news cameras, cable news, broadcast news, internet news, all staring across the gray waters underneath the pale blue sky. I shrugged it off and continued on down, North Cove, South Cove, Battery, Wall Street, where I overhear a man telling his son that this building houses the Federal Reserve, and holds more gold in one place than anywhere else in the world, the walls are three feet thick, and it is very important.

It was getting windy and I started to head back. I considered getting on the train at Wall Street, but decided I wanted to ride back as far as I could. I made it to 34th street, where I gave up and jotted over to work - I work there, above the train station - and boarded, and sat, and rode all the way home.

North at Night

I ought to mention that I went to the GWB again, coming back at night this time.

Dn and I planned to go one a short evening paddle with a couple other people, but no one else showed up. We got special dispensation to go out as a pair instead of in a group. We decided to paddle north to Fairway (about 125th street). We made such great time we decided to see how far we could go.

We ended up going to the George Washington Bridge.

By the time we got there, it was night. We broke out our lights and cruised on the way back. Having kept on the Manhattan side the whole time, we had a quiet ride back most of the way, past parks and residential neighborhoods, and he highway. At one point, a train roared past, and I could feel the vibration through the river in my boat.

Altogether, we took about 3 hours round trip, pretty good time considering the distance. We had the tide with us most of the way. This was only my third night paddle, and the first time I wasn't in a large group. I felt prepared; nothing bad happened, but something had happened, I would have been confident I could handle it.

I plan to go on more trips, but it was a good trip to go out on on.

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The Girl with the Golden Arms

I noticed yesterday that my arms are very tan. I've been developing a tan all summer, and doing what I can to develop an even tan. My arms, however, are downright golden.

I think the reason is that a fair amount of my sun time has been spent in a kayak.

When I go out, I'm sitting in a boat, covered with a sprayskirt up to my waist. I've taken to wearing hats to protect my hair, scalp, and face. Maybe my shoulders are golden too, but my back is mostly covered by the swimsuits that I wear.

That leaves my arms. By browned, golden arms, exposed in the August sun.

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On the Water

I went on another morning trip with my kayaking club today. Saturday and Sunday mornings we take about a dozen people from the general public on trips up and down the Hudson. Usually we try to cross the river over to New Jersey, but today the current was very strong in an opposing direction, and we had a middling group of paddlers.

We went north from 56th street to about 86th street, stopping twice to rest and drink water. To give you an idea of how strong the current was, it took over an hour and a half to get up there, and about twenty-five minutes to get back down.

When you go out with the public, you never know what you're going to get. Most people have been out at least once or twice before. For them, the challenge is maintaining their efforts over time. They usually respond well to instruction. There are usually a few people who have never gone out, and for them the challenge is just paddling efficiently.

A lot of people waste effort when then paddle. They use their arms, instead of their core body strength. They put the paddle in partway, and they put it out too far from the boat, leading them to skew their direction. We usually coach them the whole way up, doing what we can to not sound like nags. It's more important when the current is a problem, as it was today.

Kayak instruction is instruction at it's most precise: you can show them what to do and how to do it, but you can't do it for them. It's amazing to me how people muddle through, and then for some, things suddenly click, and they get it. For others. . . .not so much.

Kayaking is a zen art for me. It's something to practice and continually improve upon. Even the basic stroke is difficult to master in a consistent way. What's telling is that for most people, kayaking is like everything else they do in life: they want to just do it, hop in and go. But like so many practices, it isn't something one can simply go do. You have to do it over and over and over again. You have to swing and miss and swing again. It's art art, not a microwave burrito.

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To the Edgewater Again

Today I went on one of our early morning kayak trips. My group holds these trips Saturday and Sunday mornings; we leave around 8:30, usually cross the river, then go up or down with the tides. Today we made it as far as Edgewater, which is about 135th street. We departed from 56th.

It was a gorgeous day. It really could not have been more perfect. The sky was blue, the sun was shiny, clouds were light and puffy. There was a slight breeze, a little strong at times, but gentle and cooling most of they time.

I tried out a boat I hadn't been in before (and I've been in most of the models - my favorite, the Chennai, was out on another trip). This boat was HUGE - almost 18 feet long, and wide enought that I had to sit frog-legged in it to grip the knee braces. It tracked well, but tended to skew in the wind. One nice feature was a mini-hatch just big enough for my sandals and sunscreen.

Edgewater has a little marina to tie up at, and we got out and walked around, looking at the parrots in the park that it is known for. On the way back, we stopped at a Japanese supermarket, pulling up on a little beach and hopping the fence. I had already filled up on trail mix and fruit and juice, so I didn't each much.

Overall it was a good group. You never know what you're going to get with the public, but these folks were alright, and able to keep up. There was a little drama towards the end, as they got a little tuckered and slowed down or even stopped while we were crossing the river, and we could see a barge heading our way. We got through of course, we just had to encourage them a bit.

Afterwards, I showered, dried off, put on a sun dress, and walked up Broadway and did some window shopping. All in all, a fun day.

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Sunday

Sunday was a long day.

I volunteered with my kayaking club to support the NYC triathlon. Basically swim support means we go out in our kayaks and prevent the swimmers from swimming out into the open river or swimming into the sea wall. They're so focused on moving forward, they get off track easily.

This meant I got up at 3 AM. I was out the door by 3:30 to get to the 79th Street Boat Basin by 4. Less than an hour later, we were on the water, lining up and watching the sun rise.

The first wave came through a little before six. There were two clusters, a large group and then a smaller group. Altogether, it looked like a serpent roiling through the water, or perhaps two giant hands twisting their way through the river. These guys were fast. These were the professionals, competing for a $100,000 prize.

After that came a series of swimmers. They got less serious as they went on. We were instructed to call out to the swimmers the direction they should head, i.e. "Swimmer! Left!" or to point with our paddles. We could even bonk them with our paddles if we needed to. The first guy who ran into my boat didn't pay any attention and ran right into my side. "Swimmer, left," I gently cooed. "What? in your bloody canoe?" he scowled. Swimmers in the back half of the race apologized as if they had reached too far in front of me at the grocery store. "Sorry," they would say, and then bob in the water aiming their goggled eyes across the waves, looking for the way out.

A man had a heart attack and died. I didn't see that. There were many reports of jellyfish stings. I did see them. They look like giant muffin wrappers in the water.

Afterwards we took our boats back to where they belonged. I stayed at our spot on 72nd street even though we weren't opening. It seemed pointless to put the boats away. I turned away all walkups except one: Doris, a woman in her nineties who comes by early morning every weekend to paddle. When i told her we weren't opening until noon she was crestfallen. I let her go out - and she stayed out for over an hour. I hope someone will put me in a boat when I'm that old.

After that, I ran back and forth between 56th and 72nd running errands, then walked all over the upper west side looking for a bank, for stationary, and finally for lunch. It was hot and muggy, humid and in the  90s, brutal weather.

I met my friend TM and we went downtown to see if we could find the waterfalls. We  got out at Wall Street and walked over to South Street Seaport. We were able to see the falls under the Brooklyn Bridge, as well as a set out on Governor's Island. TM's work relocated downtown, so he took me to some of his favorite spots in Battery Park.

After walking through Battery Park we came upon the Staten Island Ferry Terminal. Behind it was the old terminal, now renamed the Governor's Island Ferry Terminal. It has a neo-rococo look, with several flags hanging out front. Only a very small space is devoted to the terminal. The rest is being refurbished, and this summer is host to an art installation by David Byrne. Because of something to do with the incomplete renovations and the ownership of the site, we had to sign waivers in order to see the exhibit. I've never had to waive my rights to see an art installation before.

The installation itself was interesting but underwhelming. An old organ has been wired to different sound effects in the building that replicate the industrial sounds of its former life.The space itself was far more interesting, one of those derelict urban spaces that reek of history and assert that they aren't through yet. Gangways for the ferry, stairs over water, and a giant brick waiting room with a dirty skylight were all on display. It's the kind of urban space I like to find.

After the terminal, we had another encounter downtown, this time with a French-speaking violinist busking for change. TM gave him money, and I thought we were through, but the man insisted that TM pose as if TM were the fiddler and the man was putting money in the case. I took pictures, then I took on the role, holding the violin to the man's exacting specifications. TM took pictures. I sent one to my father, who played violin as a child. He pointed out that I was holding the violin wrong.

Next, we hopped on the JMZ line to go up to Delancey. There was a restaurant I wanted to try in the Lower East Side. The Chambers Street station and the Delancey Street station were very interesting. The first was large and expansive, but somewhat ill-kept. The second was far more brightly lit than I remembered, and had a weird arrangement with the intersecting F line.

We walked over to Avenue C - Losaida - and sought out the restaurant. We never did find it, so we settled for Esperanto, a charming little bistro with a reasonable menu. I had appetizers - a wonderful chayote salad along with some friend potato-cod balls. TM had the house chicken, rich with coriander. Desert, a warm brownie with molten chocolate inside was wonderful. I only regret we did not try their drinks.

All along our day, the weather was brutally hot and muggy. It drained the life out of us. We kept on sunblock, and even with it on TM was a shade darker by the end of the day than when we started. We drank gallons of water every change we had. For myself, this was all on top of having gotten up at three in the morning. I thoroughly enjoyed our day, but by the time I got home - around nine - I was ready for it to be over.

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Rollin' in the River

Another day on the river. I spent more time than I expected, but I needed it.

I went down to the boathouse to go out on a trip. I assisted with two other volunteers plus our leader. we had about twelve members of the public and headed across to the Jersey side. We went up, and intended to go farther, but the wind and current not aligned well and were whipsawing us all over the place. Half my effort went to just keeping my boat straight. We headed up to about 80th street (we started out at 56th) and crossed back, coming down with the current.

I learned a lot about managing my boat in less than ideal conditions. I'm also getting my face around the boathouse seniors. I did get a little talk about staying with the group. I got out to far ahead a few times. I need to check the rearview more often and make sure I'm still with the group.

When we got back, I took a break and hopped out of the Chennai. I love the Chennai, by the way, it's an awesome boat. It's speedy and it tracks well. I wanted to try some rolling, so after a snack I went out in a Baja, which I'm more familiar with. I only spent about half an hour rolling. I got pretty good, but flubbed at one point and did a wet exit. I did well climbing back in, but by the time my buddy and I were done pumping the boat out, we were ready for some other things, so we chatted with another volunteer about hand rolling, and I plied around the embayment for a bit.

There was a huge arriving event - some sort of group trip from Albany, mostly folks in their sixties and older, plus a few extras for the last leg. Some of them had very nice, very fancy boats. We helped them out and walked them back to the lawn in front of the boathouse, then noshed on sandwiched. At one point I rode up to my usual spot to see how things were going, and later two more volunteers came up, so I rode back down and changed into regular clothes to go home.

I love kayaking. I really enjoy this particular club as well, and it's fun to ride a bike up and down the trail the city's developed along the waterfront. I learned a bit more about how the trust and authority structures are organized for different parts of the waterfront. It's really fascinating. It's remarkable what the city has done, compared with what was along the waterfront before.

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