Albany

"Wanna go up to Albany?" I look to the left to see who's talking. A guy in an outfit that would easily take you to Paris in the Tour de France has come up behind me. "Uhm, no, I'm on my way to school," I tell him. Yesterday it took me an hour and twenty minutes to bike from my home in Crown Heights, Brooklyn to Columbia on the Upper West Side, but I hope to set a new personal best today.

"What do you study?," the South-European looking cyclist asks me. "Classics." "Wow, how many Classics," he asks. I explain to him that I don't study world literature's greatest hits, but dead languages. It doesn't make a difference to him, he finds it equally fascinating.

While we make a left turn in Riverside Park at full speed he introduces himself as Enrique, born in Madrid, but a US resident for most of his life. "Let's meet up sometime, to talk about Classics some more, or go for a bike ride," Enrique continues. "Maybe," I reply.

Enrique suddenly sits up, and lets go of his handlebars. He reaches to the pocket on the back of his shirt to get something, and gives it to me. It's not a bottle of energy drink, or a granola bar, but his business card. Aren't they useful, those shirt pockets. "I'm off now, call me," Enrique says, as he sprints away from me with unmistakable South-European machismo. I improved my Crown Heights - Columbia PB with 15 minutes.