The Sporting Life

I have purchased an awesome old bike, christened it Flikka (she's German), and taken an inaugural ride through the bike lanes of Hudson Street to The Great Adventures of Slick Rick, beating my Volkswagen-bound friends to the Chelsea Market by fifteen minutes.

Since I can't drive, this isn't exactly reducing my carbon footprint, but it is highly picturesque. Less so was the shlep to the 8th Ave L train where, by the way, the wheelchair ramp is way too steep for any handicapped person to use without dying, and where, along with Bedford Avenue, nary a single hipster boy offered to help me get Flikka up the stairs, although I was fetchingly attired in the denim romper.

After the manicured bike lanes of the Chelsea boys, Greenpoint's potholes and teenage drivers were no picnic. Have found what seems to be a good hitching spot, though, right in front of my building. Once a signpost, it now holds only a small plywood plaque bearing a stenciled image of Jim Morrison. Which I can't imagine is official city property.

In other good news, found a really good source for bathing caps to accompany my new 'Lamour' one-piece from Urban Outfitters. While traveltrunk.com seems primarily concerned with old-style uniforms for one's domestics (there's also a creepy sexy costumes section containing what appears to be a Mormon tavern wench's getup), they have the best selection of chin-strap swim caps I've seen, and as we all know, the Petite Sophisticate is a big fan of the chin-strap swim cap, which she considers to be universally flattering. They also have those flowered, Phyllis Diller-style numbers, if that's your poison, plus some pretty glam terry cloth turbans, two of which are now wending their way to Greenpoint.