A Nice Run

(As promised, here I am going to talk briefly about something nice.)

A city as big and populated and well-known as New York, so much so that a lot of its imagery is little more than cliche at this point, can still amaze. I'm going to say thank you now to Red Hook for giving me something different to see, and doing it so close by.
Yesterday I started a run near dusk, planning to head toward the harbor waterfront and then south into Red Hook for a little bit, then return home. I did this, sorta, only my mind was in just the right place so I got swept up in the sights and I went farther than expected. A lot of times when running I glaze over and simply cover the appointed ground, but sometimes my eyes are wide and my course is spontaneous and any turn can be exploratory.
I ran south as close as you can get to the water (which, until you've gotten through Cobble Hill and Carroll Gardens and into Red Hook, is not that close. Good-sized chunks of land that look no better than parking lots separate the road from the water) until starting to zig-zag westward until coming onto Imlay Street. This is a very unattractive street but in my state it was so barren and desolate that it became fascinating. The very long continuous warehouse running along the west side of the street for a while impressed me. In my horribly gentrified way, I wondered what it would be like to live there, turning one of the upper floors into a huge flat. Think of the sunsets, at least.
Continuing south and west as the darkness started to come in earnest, I think I had a little sense of freedom, the kind a city-dweller gets when confronted with openness or aloneness for the first time in a long while, just running along the blocks, seeing no one, warehouse after factory passing empty and quiet, the sidewalks getting rougher, Brooklyn seeming to keep jutting farther and farther into the still-unseen water. What must it be like to spend parts of your day or even your life in that corner of the borough, so obviously unlike so much that surrounds it (what's the antonym of aloof?). Does any of that industrial footprint see honest use anymore? I finally took a right turn on Wolcott Street and got very near to the water next to what might be a Snapple factory. There was a chain link fence that I stopped and stared through just about 15 feet from the powerful water. I was standing just across a narrow channel of harbor from the bottom end of Governor's Island, so the currents were fairly imposing, almost as much as the large sharp rocks lining both shores. This is not some place I'd want to take a swim. And yet the scene was at the same time very peaceful, and the view was certainly stunning. Straight north up the channel was a perfectly framed image of the Brooklyn and Manhattan Bridges. And out across the harbor, with little Governor's Island acting as a shield, whatever quicker pace might be represented by downtown Manhattan was totally drowned out and spread thin and wide across the entire harbor, absorbing itself into the shores of Jersey and Staten Island.
Finally I turned from my trance and for the first time on the run, headed away from the water. I was close to the bottom of Red Hook and decided to keep following the curve of land, into more and more desolate surroundings, which is why it was so odd to see, on Van Dyke Street, a very small sign and driveway (yes, a driveway) leading off to a place selling key lime pies. Maybe they're imported pies from Europe, I don't know. Straight off the boat, you know.
A few blocks further, near the corner of Conover and Reed, after having not seen another human for probably ten minutes, I improbably came upon a youngish woman carrying grocery bags. To my shock, I discovered a full-size Fairway market around the corner of Reed Street. With a full-sized suburban parking lot and everything.
Just a block or more away from the Fairway, on the other side of yet another big long warehouse on a pier, there was an inlet coming right up to an open chain-link fence that offered me a clear view of the waterfront scene. In the deepening dark and stagnant water it was entirely decrepit except for the odd sight of perhaps ten large and expensive-looking private boats. Like a marina in Connecticut, only amidst the Red Hook wasteland.
At this point, I was just a block or two away from having the whole scene open up thanks to the brightness of Ikea. Here though I made yet another surprising discovery: Ikea did an amazing job of revitalizing the waterfront behind their massive store. There is grass and a little waterfront parkways for walking or biking or whatever. They even left the massive docking machinery on the long skinny piers (hell, it may even still be in use). I ran and weaved my way along the water all the way to Columbia Street, stopping once to be almost confused by the low buildings out a few hundred meters across the water. I knew it was too close to be the rest of Brooklyn, but it seemed way too far away to be a pier. Lo and behold, after I got home and checked a map, but there is a huge hook-shaped pier at the bottom of Red Hook. It was too dark for me to tell if the pier was itself red, but I'd like to think that it must be.
Anyhow, I meandered home along a more familiar route, enjoying the cool air of early fall, even if that air conspired with my warm sweaty body to chafe my nipples. The point is that I spent maybe 45 minutes and traveled no farther than about 1.5 miles (as the crow flies) from my apartment, and yet I was able to feel like a little kid exploring new places.
This is a thing that I'm sure most New Yorkers take for granted. Our city houses 8 million people, and has been crowded for many many years. So there are experiences--both to be had to be remembered--all around in every corner of every neighborhood on every foot of land. You just can't get that in many places.
So thanks New York, thanks Brooklyn, thanks Red Hook.