New York: American Revolutions (Saturday 08/07/2017).
Its a short walk from Starbucks on 9th to the Hudson.
The river is a broad, shining expanse of water and if my antediluvian geography serves me well, it deserves to be called an estuary or even a channel .
The indigenous American Iroquois Indians called it the Muh-he-kun-ne-tuk or the river that runs both ways but Henry Hudson pitched up in 1609 and, deciding that this mouthful would cause future generations no end of trouble when trying to book a sight-seeing cruise, modestly re-named it.
Sadly, the River Henry didn't catch on and the rest, as they say, is genocide.
By 1775 The Thirteen Colonies were revolting and while some would say little has changed, the unstoppable momentum of the American Revolution swept away the British and laid the groundwork for the current foul up.
Two hundred and forty two years later, as we began our own fresh revolutions astride sturdy two wheelers from Pier 84's Blazing Saddles, the Hudson dazzled in the morning sunlight.
We cruised along the Greenway, skirting Chelsea, Greenwich Village and Tribeca before passing through the shadow of One World Trade Centre, stopping only when we reached Battery Park at the southerly most point of the island.
The USS Intrepid aircraft carrier, commissioned in 1943, still looks like a state of the art war machine but you don't have to stretch the imagination much to see Will Smith taking pot shots at zombies off the poop deck with his 3 iron. The fighter aircraft are gone but the 74 year old tarmac is so massive, that the Enterprise Space Shuttle hasn't even realised that it shares the deck space with Concorde.
Stopping for refreshment at Battery Park, we shared the world's smallest sausage which came in an uncompromisingly large bun (insert gag here) before catching the Staten Island Ferry past Ellis Island, the Statue of Liberty and onto Governor's Island.
The Governor has long since left and the island is given over to a discordant mix of 18th Century barracks and 20th Century prefabs.
After ice cream we took the bikes across the river to Dumbo in Brooklyn, disappointingly named after the rather soulless acronym (Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass). It would have been so much better if the area was populated by flying elephants with comically over sized ears.
Pausing underneath the massive supports of the Brooklyn Bridge, we could barely see the hasty repairs necessitated by every disaster that befalls New York.
After several futile efforts at finding the on ramp to the bridge, we eventually clattered over the walkway, 100 feet above the Hudson on nothing more than the slats that also support every Ikea mattress in the world.
The NYPD have long since disposed of their gas guzzling cruisers and now police the area in something smaller than smart cars. No longer can a suspect expect to be cuffed and repeatedly bludgeoned against the door frame whilst being shown the back seat, mainly because there is no back seat. The current preference seems to be shoot first and concoct lame excuses after, before finally handing over the chest cam footage and pressing for an acquittal on the basis that the deceased was brandishing a baby with intent.
Looping back on ourselves we fell into Mamma Mia's on West 44th and 9th during which the following exchange took place:
Me: "The chicken pesto looks nice. Is it red or green?".
Waitress: "The chicken is brown".
So I had the fish, which, if you know me, is a revolution of sorts.
The river is a broad, shining expanse of water and if my antediluvian geography serves me well, it deserves to be called an estuary or even a channel .
The indigenous American Iroquois Indians called it the Muh-he-kun-ne-tuk or the river that runs both ways but Henry Hudson pitched up in 1609 and, deciding that this mouthful would cause future generations no end of trouble when trying to book a sight-seeing cruise, modestly re-named it.
Sadly, the River Henry didn't catch on and the rest, as they say, is genocide.
By 1775 The Thirteen Colonies were revolting and while some would say little has changed, the unstoppable momentum of the American Revolution swept away the British and laid the groundwork for the current foul up.
Two hundred and forty two years later, as we began our own fresh revolutions astride sturdy two wheelers from Pier 84's Blazing Saddles, the Hudson dazzled in the morning sunlight.
We cruised along the Greenway, skirting Chelsea, Greenwich Village and Tribeca before passing through the shadow of One World Trade Centre, stopping only when we reached Battery Park at the southerly most point of the island.
The USS Intrepid aircraft carrier, commissioned in 1943, still looks like a state of the art war machine but you don't have to stretch the imagination much to see Will Smith taking pot shots at zombies off the poop deck with his 3 iron. The fighter aircraft are gone but the 74 year old tarmac is so massive, that the Enterprise Space Shuttle hasn't even realised that it shares the deck space with Concorde.
 |
| USS Intrepid at Pier 84. |
Stopping for refreshment at Battery Park, we shared the world's smallest sausage which came in an uncompromisingly large bun (insert gag here) before catching the Staten Island Ferry past Ellis Island, the Statue of Liberty and onto Governor's Island.
The Governor has long since left and the island is given over to a discordant mix of 18th Century barracks and 20th Century prefabs.
 |
| Ice cream on Governor's Island. |
After ice cream we took the bikes across the river to Dumbo in Brooklyn, disappointingly named after the rather soulless acronym (Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass). It would have been so much better if the area was populated by flying elephants with comically over sized ears.
Pausing underneath the massive supports of the Brooklyn Bridge, we could barely see the hasty repairs necessitated by every disaster that befalls New York.
 |
| Under the Bridge. |
After several futile efforts at finding the on ramp to the bridge, we eventually clattered over the walkway, 100 feet above the Hudson on nothing more than the slats that also support every Ikea mattress in the world.
 |
| Made of Ikea bed slats. |
The NYPD have long since disposed of their gas guzzling cruisers and now police the area in something smaller than smart cars. No longer can a suspect expect to be cuffed and repeatedly bludgeoned against the door frame whilst being shown the back seat, mainly because there is no back seat. The current preference seems to be shoot first and concoct lame excuses after, before finally handing over the chest cam footage and pressing for an acquittal on the basis that the deceased was brandishing a baby with intent.
 |
| Car chases will never be the same again. |
Looping back on ourselves we fell into Mamma Mia's on West 44th and 9th during which the following exchange took place:
Me: "The chicken pesto looks nice. Is it red or green?".
Waitress: "The chicken is brown".
So I had the fish, which, if you know me, is a revolution of sorts.
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