When I think of video surveillance I traditionally think of images of hooded people committing armed robbery or fuzzy images of children being abducted in parking lots.

So you could imagine my surprise when what was to be an enjoyable yet hardworking Saturday morning consisting of an 85-mile ride from Queens to Lloyd Neck on Long Island turned into a series of activities that illuminated the positive side of Big Brother surveillance intelligence. But here I am getting ahead of myself. Let’s start from the beginning.

I woke up this morning around 6:00am with great expectations of throwing my cycling clothes on and jumping into my 1991 Ford Explorer that I had just gotten back from the car hospital because she had the equivalent of mono - no energy, the battery kept draining and she simply wasn’t holding a charge. The Basher, as she is described by many, has over 200,000 miles of service so we should expect a few creaky joints and aches, but recently she’s been having more than her fair share. So all of last week, she was a resident in Hartsdale and I was thrilled on Friday when I was able to pick her up, which I did by running hills for five miles until I found my way over to that side of town. When I drove off of the lot, I noticed that the battery indicator was on the low side of normal, but since it was still in normal, I figured it must be ok, clearly the mechanic knew more than I about this sort of thing. So it was this morning that I found myself fifteen minutes before I was supposed to leave hunting around for my wallet, well sort of a wallet, it’s a plastic card holder held together with black athletic tape, in which I keep he necessities - drivers license, metro card, a few dollars in cash and my Metro North bike permit. I looked everywhere for this thing and my fifteen minute cushion disappeared and in no time turned into a 15 minute deficit. Knowing that the leader of the group I’m riding with has the only cue sheet and if I’m late, I have no idea where to go, I grabbed a fifty dollar bill and ran out the door with no wallet, no drivers license and no credit cards. As I begin to drive down to Queens, I begin to reflect back to where I used my wallet last, which I determined was the CVS in White Plains, where I bought Gatorade and water for today’s ride. I knew I paid for the drinks and knew that right before I threw the drinks into the back of the car, I placed at least one of the drinks up on the roof of Cindy’s truck and all of a sudden, that sinking feeling fell across me. Having already looked everywhere I would expect this morning - my office, the desk, my car, Cindy’s car, the driveway, the jeans and plaid shirt i was wearing - I surmised that it was indeed possible that I left my wallet on the hood of Cindy’s truck and it found its way at best to the wet and rainy ground of the parking lot and at worst to a random trash bin after a concerned citizen removed the cash and credit cards.

While this self reflection was taking place, I began to watch the battery meter in my dashboard drop lower and lower and the more I drove, the further it dropped into the red; even I figured out this was not a good thing. I called Cindy up and old her my situation and as I did, I realized that even though i had charged my cell phone all night, there were only two bars remaining. I had a feeling I was headed for the perfect personal technology storm - no battery in my car, no drivers license or credit cards to pay for any service and my cell phone is about to die so I won’t be able to call for assistance.

Now a normal and rational person would have just turned around, but given that I’m supposed to be training for Ironman, I really needed this ride as I’ve just gotten back into my training and I’m going to be spending a week in an Orlando Conference Center, so I probably won’t be getting a productive ride in for quite some time. Cindy jumps out of bed and heads to CVS and I head to Cunningham Park in Queens to meet up with the combined riders from the 5BBC and NYCC, two cycling clubs in New York City.

I’m pretty stressed out as I get off of the highway in Queens and just as I’m making my left turn into Cunningham Park’s parking lot and see the group of cyclists congregating, my steering goes stiff, the brakes get thick and the car dies. I roll to a stop in the entry way of the parking lot blocked by signs announcing that my car has now ceased to work in a blocked entrance reserved for today’s Big Apple Circus.

to be continued…