Remembering that first motorcycle ride of a NYC spring

By Tony Mangia

After almost 40 years of living in New York City, I permanently — and stubbornly — moved out of Manhattan to Florida. One of the reasons I made the switch from concrete sidewalks to sandy beaches — besides the fortuity to work out of what was my second home — was the weather and opportunity to ride my motorcycle almost any time I wanted. It’s been three years since I traded that one-bedroom apartment under the shadow of the Empire State building for a three-bedroom house with a pool, boat dock and garage on the Gulf Coast of the Sunshine State.

Oh yeah, did I mention I now have a garage?

I never knew having my own personal space to park my 1976 Harley-Davidson Super Glide would yield so many benefits after years of parking it on the 32nd Street sidewalk (technically illegal, but I was young, broke and the city was the Wild West back then) outside my building before being able to afford storing it in various indoor garages around the neighborhood.

Finally, for the next couple of decades I knew my garage-parked bike would be relatively safe (I did have my car stolen right out of a Sixth Avenue parking garage once), a little expensive ($250 a month), but wouldn’t have to worry about parking tickets, tow trucks or that ubiquitous homeless guy who occasionally “decorated” it with trinkets he culled from the garbage. The problems with the garage were that the bike was usually stashed in a dank corner swaddled under a perpetually dirty motorcycle cover (You wouldn’t believe how much exhaust soot the cars make and that the parking attendants must breath in) and it was jammed behind a couple of cars (I had to tip the attendant to move them while I unlocked the half dozen or so locks I secured it with). The act of retrieving my motorcycle became a task that actually made getting the bike out on the street a tiresome and sometimes time-consuming chore. It was easier to jump on the subway or grab a cab. Leisurely putts became a rarity.

The luxury of having my own garage now goes past just parking the bike. It means I can work on that leaky AMF (One rebuilt engine and two paint jobs later) in comfortable surroundings, leave parts scattered where they fall — all with with the convenience of an array of tools at my side. It is sure a big difference from when I would slip my bike between two parked cars on the street, kick some garbage out of the way and hope it didn’t rain before I finished changing the oil or whatnot. 

But a Manhattan parking garage did provide my Harley with secure storage over the winter months.

From November until March, I would occasionally stop in the garage, reach under the gunk-coated cover and start the old warhorse for a quick battery charge thinking about a joyous warm day when I could take it out for the ceremonial first ride of spring. Honestly, I mostly neglected the bike during the winter storage more than I should have. Out of sight, out of mind.

In Florida I have the luxury of being able to ride the bike almost any day I want. It’s sitting right there at my house. I’ve become spoiled by the warm weather and easy access to my bike 365 days a year. And in shorts and a tank top no less! No more soiled cover, no more airborne grime, no more drained batteries, no more waiting for the temperature to rise above 55-degrees (My personal comfort level) and no more 250 bucks for a three-foot by six-foot corner space every month. Florida is Nirvana for motorcyclists — and cheaper too. 

Now after three years in southwest Florida, I came to the conclusion that I have been been taking my motorcycle for granted and find myself reminiscing about that first day of spring ride ritual.

Looking back, after six months being cooped up during a New York City winter, the snow and cold, that first spin on your scooter every spring was like the last day of school and Christmas rolled onto two wheels. The act of gearing up — my 30 year-old leather jacket that has who knows how many miles and the scuffed patches from a few spills to prove it — and hoping that you have enough juice in the battery, the jets didn’t clog and the fuel didn’t evaporate (gas stations are rare birds in Manhattan) are now distant flashbacks.

The anxiety of those annual first city starts still linger though. Every year, while stepping around that puddle of oil under the bike before wiping off the accumulated dust and filth, there came the pressing of the start button followed by its first wheezing cough through the air filter, the popping burps from the exhausts and the prayers you don’t have to hump it up the parking lot ramp, then down to push-start it. Funny how those nuisances are fond remembrances now. 

Back on those first days, with any luck, the points and timing were okay, the gas was potent, tire pressure okay and there was enough oil left in it to take her out for that first annual spin.  

The sensation of riding my motorcycle into bright sunlight outside the darkened garage exit was a glorious feeling. Cruising down Fifth Avenue, the 1200cc vibrating underneath, a slight wind in your face with Mother Nature somehow finding a way to send a chill down your neck. The smell of Sabrett’s hot dog carts filled your other senses. The staleness of winter being exorcised from your bike through temporary plumes of black exhaust  and an occasional sputter. At the same time, your own pent-up soul being cleansed with a healthy blush on your cheeks and a smile on your face.

For me, it was always over to the FDR to rev this baby out of her doldrums. Cruising along the East River, dodging potholes and taxis was dangerous, but also a delightful, welcome adventure. Then it was up to 96th Street and over to Park Avenue southward for my favorite secret shortcut through a tunnel slicing through the Pan Am Building (What real New Yorkers still call the renamed MetLife Building) and around Grand Central Station on an elevated roadway looking down at Vanderbilt Place before tooling up 42nd Street. It was a thrill gliding past Times Square over to the West Side Highway up to the the George Washington Bridge into Jersey for a fresh tank of gas for that thirsty beast. 

In the coming weeks, it would be a wash, an oil change and tune up done on the crowded street. The leather jacket would go back in the closet and, considering the weather, more rides out of the city.

Today in Florida, like almost any day, I opened my garage door, hopped on the seat and rode that motorcycle to the local store for some groceries — hassle-free. No stuck padlocks, no ashy covers and no attendant with his hand out. 

In exchange, there are no more first rides of spring anymore.

Like that incurable drip of oil from my motorcycle and the eternal pool it leaves on my garage floor, the recollections of those anticipated first rides in New York City have stayed with me — even with the city inconveniences.

Arcadia Rodeo Championships In Motion (Photography)

Photos By Tony Mangia

The 92nd annual Arcadia All-Florida Championships were held during a four-day event this weekend and didn't disappoint. Riders, ropers, bull riders and a couple of thousand rodeo fans filled the new Mosaic Arena with saddles, ropes, stirrups and boots not to mention a pretty good pulled pork BBQ sandwich aroma.

I tried to capture the events (Steer wrestling, team roping, saddle bronc riding, tie-down roping and bull riding) in photographs showing the speed, precision and drama of the split second action between the animals and cowboys.

The cowgirls competing in the barrel racing event were just as spectacular.

Working MLB Spring Training Security In Times Of Coronavirus

Story and photos by Tony Mangia

I have been working security detail during spring training for a Major League Baseball team in Florida —usually about five or six weeks every winter—over the past three years. It’s temporary position that allows a person like myself to have a part-time job, chat with people and earn a little extra income on the side — all while in a sunny, outdoor baseball setting. Along with about 50 other men and women — many retired with law enforcement, military and even some jail guard experience — we are the front line of protection at each minor league stadium at every game during the months of February and March before the regular season starts.

The security team incorporates three different steps at the ticket holder entrances to make sure the players and patrons are safe on the practice fields, locker rooms and while sitting in the stands or enjoying the concourses filled concession stands and facilities, respectively. 

Game day entrants must first pass through a physical inspection where our guests are asked to empty their pockets into a small bin while their bags are hand-checked for for banned items like alcohol, knives, mace, explosives and firearms (Well, it is Florida and many individuals have legal conceal and carry permits) along with have-to-be-checked in items like beach chairs and umbrellas. Next, patrons pass through a metal-detecting magnetometer — which we call The Mag — and if you set that baby off, you have the pleasure of being wanded by our third line of protection with an hand-held metal detector.

Pretty much standard procedure at any stadium or public gathering these days and the results prove that security details like ours are universally successful as both a result and a deterrent. 

Every year Floridians like to sneer that we have to withstand the influx of snowbirds who bring down their colds and flus from up north. But this year there is a new threat coming from wherever which could possibly appear at our gates and stealthily affect the well being of everyone inside. It is called COVID-19 —  otherwise going by the less scientific name of coronavirus.

While it’s easy to find an errant knife or bourbon-filled flask within our three-step physical and technological screenings at the stadium entrances, the invisible menace of this viral infection is impossible to detect at any gate without specialized medical testing kits.

Now, with the heavy national media coverage of the coronavirus hitting close to home —  a couple of deaths in Florida attributed to the serious respiratory illness — MLB’s spring-training sports venues like where I work are taking steps to limit the possibility of contracting the virus.  While discussions about contamination have been a summarily hot topic while working at the security gates, there’s still way more friendly chatter because we try to make the extra wait in line as pleasant and innocuous as possible for the patrons as well as me and my fellow workers.

So when someone in line coughs and then tells you they just got off a cruise, you wince with concern before pulling that bottle of hand sanitizer from your pocket after they pass. And there are lots of cruise ships docking in Florida.

Florida is also filled with the most susceptible victims of the airborne Coronavirus  — which has killed over 4,000 people worldwide — namely senior citizens and retirees. Some of my co-workers might go by that label as well and a good portion of our game patrons are of advanced age with health concerns. Although, at least outwardly, most of them seem more concerned with the dip of the stock market than a rise in coronavirus. 

But our stadium team’s concerns and safety of the fans aren’t taken lightly.  At every game we screen through all-sized bags filled with crumpled tissues, hairbrushes, diapers, used sippy cups and other personal items which have touched who-knows-what before they got to the stadium. Even without the threat of coronavirus, the task of a security person can be slightly intrusive and let’s say a little yucky.

So with three entrance gates containing 10 security checks welcoming an average of about 4,000 people for each of 16 exhibition games, I figure I will physically come in contact with at least 6,400 unfamiliar individuals at the gate this month not to mention touching their personal nicknacks and the various face-to-face chit-chats and numerous hand-to-hand fist-bumps  — which have replaced the more exposed high-five — fans expect me to respond to. 

That’s a lot of person-to-person interaction.

Our management has taken exceptional steps to help prevent the contamination of public facilities by coronavirus including providing more hand sanitizer dispensers around the stadium. The cleaning crews spray down bathrooms, disinfect the doors, handles, railings and even the stadium seats are wiped down before each game. It also minimizes the spread of the common flu too. 

As for the gate watchers, we have rubber gloves, disinfectant wipes and use sticks to probe through bags while looking for contraband. We even joke that the magnetic rays of the Mags might help kill off the virus. They don’t.

The lighthearted puns help hide a subliminal concern among me and my co-workers and, although nobody has quit and I have yet to see a face mask on a patron or a worker, you don’t have to be germaphobe to use common sense and take simple precautions like washing your hands more often and avoid touching your face. And the occasional “thank you” from an attendee makes us feel appreciated for doing the dirty work so the Grapefruit League games can thrive here in Florida during this unpredictable coronavirus scare.

While the new, extended foul line netting at stadiums makes it more difficult for fans to make contact with the players, that longtime ritual of getting up close with them in a more relaxed, small town atmosphere at spring training has been curtailed. MLB recently sent a memo to all 30 teams (15 which train and play in southern Florida) telling players avoid taking balls and pens from from fans because of coronavirus. Most players will still sign a few things — albeit wearing their batting gloves — but some teams have barred them from direct signings and distribute pre-signed items instead. 

MLB and local stadium crews are taking the coronavirus seriously, but the games are still fun and exciting while we do our best to make it a safe place to come out and enjoy a beer and a hot dog in-between the strikes and home runs.

Just say thanks to the event staff while you’re there.

UPDATE

MLB is delaying the start of the 2020 regular season by at least two weeks in response to the coronavirus pandemic, the league announced Thursday.

The league also said in a statement that spring training games have been suspended, starting at 4 p.m. ET Thursday.

Commissioner Rob Manfred and the league's owners held a conference call Thursday afternoon to formalize the plan.

"MLB will announce the effects on the schedule at an appropriate time and will remain flexible as events warrant, with the hope of resuming normal operations as soon as possible," MLB said in its statement.

The announcement came while some spring training games in Florida were still in progress. MLB followed the NBA, NHL, MLS and college basketball tournaments in altering schedules because of the pandemic.

MLB had been scheduled to open its season March 26, with all 30 teams in action. Manfred left open whether each team still would play 162 games.