This Sunday 30,000 people will take to the streets of New York. Traffic will stop, the New York Police Department will turn out in numbers and emergency medical technicians from the city's fire department will be on call. These people, however, won't be marching or carrying banners: they'll be on wheels for this is the city's annual Five Boro Bike Tour - the 25th since its inception - and because of the year that's in it, the slogan is "United We Ride".
Cycling in New York is not for cowardy custards though we're not talking kamikazi either. For one thing, the grid system means that when one set of stop lights change, they all do, giving traffic a smooth run through five or six blocks, unlike Dublin or London, where it progresses in stop-go mode. The grid system, with its one-way streets and avenues, also means that the cyclist has a fair idea of whether vehicles will be turning right or left.
When I first took to the streets, I was given some good advice: "If you're on a one-way street," said Al, a cyclist himself, "always keep to the left hand side. That way, you won't get your face smashed by a parked driver opening his car door."
The traffic-free place to cycle, apart from Central Park, is along the Hudson River where cyclists vie with joggers and bladers for a chance to speed along the 11-mile riverside track. Here, at weekends, the serious cyclists are to be seen, kitted out as if for the Tour de France, in padded, moisture-wicking lycra pants, high-tech cycling shoes, aero-dynamic helmets - with a snack of yoghurt and blended soya-based protein powder tucked away in their bum bags. They cycle at speed, waiting for no man. And that's just the women.
Proceeding at a more stately pace are the parents with wobbling children in tow, the seniors, cyclists with dogs on a lead - and me.
I bought an unassuming bike for $115 from Bikes by George on East Third Street - that's George from Jamaica. When he heard I was going to have a go at the Five Boro Bike Tour, he threw in a better saddle and a chain and offered to buy the IT back from me when I leave. You can't get a better deal than that.
Mind you, George built up his trade originally by buying stolen bikes auctioned by the police department and there's a lot of that about. Stealing, I mean. Serious cyclists carry their steeds up endless flights of stairs and hang them on the walls of their apartment instead of pictures. Others, like me, risk locking them up on the street though a friend shook her head when she saw my chain: "Dental floss," she said dismissively and showed me her own heavy-duty Houdini-challenging set of links.
Pushing the pedals is a good way to see the alternative New York. You get a view of the underbelly of the elevated highway and to smell the city's Sanitation Depot before you actually reach it. You encounter dog walkers wearing a white plastic glove on one hand the better to take home the beloved's poop, people with radio aerials sticking out of their baseball caps and people with briefcases in their panniers, on their way to work.
The Hudson River track runs through from the George Washington Bridge right down to Battery Park, the track interrupted towards the end where barges are still being loaded with detritus from what remains of the Twin Towers. On a fine day, with the sun gleaming on the high rises across the river in New Jersey, the G. W. Bridge fading into the heat haze, a lone plane striking out across the blue sky, the sound of children playing basbell, there's no place better to be.
Sunday's ride starts from Battery Park, proceeds up through Central Park, hangs a right into the Bronx, drops down to Queens and then into Brooklyn before crossing over onto Staten Island by way of the majestic Verrazano Bridge. Anyone still breathing after the 42-mile ride will be entertained by the Sensational Soul Cruisers, with food and foot massages thrown in. And then it's home via the Staten Island Ferry.
I've paid my $30 entrance fee and though I've said I'm going to do the ride, I haven't said I'm actually going to finish it. A bit of research has led me to believe that there are ways and means of cheating. For instance, anyone turning up late at the starting point will be forced to take a shortened tour. (Memo to self: remember to set the alarm an hour late.)
There are also millions of sweepers ready to pick up the biked-out and transport them, in a van, to the Festival site on Staten Island. All you have to do is sit at the side of the road and wait for something called the SAG bus to come and pick you. " I'm telling ya," Al said, "if you're too assed out to keep going, this may be the way to do it. Maintain, will ya?"