Stuart and I took the ferry over from Brooklyn (three minutes!) this Sunday afternoon, to rent bikes and tool around the island like proper yuppies. It was our first visit, but I felt as though I knew the place well. Firstly, because I’ve spent countless minutes zooming around it on Google Maps, and secondly, because it felt like the dream version of one’s childhood: all cobblestone paths that you rattle down, legs stuck out at stick-figure angles from your bike, clanging your little bike bell. Curving around a sea wall and feeling the wind ripping through your hair, snatching your voice as you yell to your buddy. Dropping the bikes in rough, pleasing grass and flopping down to suck water from a plastic bottle. Riding by churches, and ice cream stalls, and big houses with wrap-around porches. Everything you think is great about the world when there are no cars and all bikes, and delicious sharp wind and a big blue sky and very few cares.
Basically what I’m saying here is, why haven’t you been to Governors Island yet? C’mon, let’s go!
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