I was packing my little bag while talking to my father on the phone yesterday about where he was going to meet me when I arrive in New York today. My helmet. My camera. A vest in case it’s chilly in my hometown of Mineola (where I’m riding a bike for the epilogue of my book) or on the Hudson River Greenway, where I intended to ride at sunrise one morning.
But then he told me that there had been a terrorist attack just moments before, right on that path. That eight bike riders had been murdered, right where I took this photo of a ghost bike the last time I rode it.
Do you add eight more ghost bikes now? Are terrorist attacks of bike riders now a thing? Are moments like my daybreak ride on the Charles River Esplanade from two days ago a relic of the past? Has the world just changed irrevocably yet again, in a way that further strips us of humanity? Do we add yet more concrete and cops, and kiss not just carfree but carefree totally goodbye, or is there still the dim possibility and hope for another way forward? Are prayers for the loved ones’ families really the best we can do?