On the Manhattan Bridge, a steady stream of cyclists silently make their way to work at 8 a.m. on Monday morning. A middle-aged businessman with toddler daughter in bright pink cat-eared helmet. Toddler girl securely fastened in rear bike carrier, nodding off. Beard-sporting hipster on fixed-gear bike. Kryptonite belt. A tweed coat and beret on a vintage dutch-style cruiser. A spandex-clad racer followed by a heel-wearing woman in skirt and hat. Lace-trimmed bike gloves. A series of CitiBikes, bright streaks of blue, huffing towards Manhattan.
Cycling in solitude. Each of them. All of them. All of them witness to the East River below, the glistening sun, the tug boats and cargo ships pushing through the waters, a ceaseless drone of bridge traffic, the frequent clatter of rush hour trains.
A shared experience, on the Manhattan Bridge at 8 a.m.