"I can’t beat the train uphill," I told her, "but if I crest the hill of the bridge right as the train does I can beat it biking down."
At least that’s what I thought. But the next day, as I crested the Manhattan Bridge, a D train pulled up next to me, then began to slide past.
But I remembered our conversation, and decided to race the train.
I started pedaling hard, hard enough to match the train’s pace, but I couldn’t pull ahead. I flew down the bridge, turning my head to grin at the train, trying to pedal harder — but I couldn’t get traction.
Then, as the train approached the tunnel at the bridge’s end, it began to slow. I crept forward, nearing the front car.
I turned my head again to check my progress and saw the train’s conductor, leaning out the window, grinning back at me, cheering me on.