Here is the on-train bike hook Metro-North is testing at Grand Central these days.

I must say, I simply love the 10-speed in the photo. What’s that, the Schwinn Junior Varsity? 

Writes Metro-North:

The railroad is seeking feedback from the cycling community on the hooks – their ease of use, placement, etc. Metro-North has established an e-mail address to which people can send comments about the bike mount: surveys@mnr.org.  The intent is to increase safety, convenience and sustainable mobility for all customers. 

“Metro-North has always been bicycle-friendly, with certain weekend trains designated to serve popular cycling destinations and in supporting numerous bike rallies and special events by providing extra, bicycle-only cars,” said Metro-North President Howard Permut.  “This pilot is a natural extension or our effort to promote sustainable mobility within our region.”  

      If the pilot is successful, Metro-North will determine next steps on the M-8s with ConnDOT and on the M-7s with Long Island Rail Road, which has a large fleet of M-7s. 

If your New Year’s resolutions involve stopping and smelling the roses just a bit more than you did last year, here are a couple items of interest for New York commuters on the go. HBO is erecting an interactive billboard at the Times Square subway station to promote the polygamy series Big Love. It’s interactive because passers-by can stick their headphones into the billboard to learn the deepest, darkest secrets of the people depicted on it.

“Everyone has something to hide,” goes the slogan, as everyone in Big Love has something they wouldn’t want ol’ Jehovah to know about.

Interestingly, notes the New York Times, the same campaign in Los Angeles gives out disposable headphones to passers-by, while New Yorkers are expected to provide their own–presumably because most of us are not driving to work.

Uptown a few more stops, the Times marks 20 years of that funky tile art at the 86th Street Station on Broadway. The objets d’art aren’t noteworthy for their artistic value, says reporter Martin Espinoza, but for the Ordinary Joes (and Jose’s) that created them.

These are no masterpieces. Most of the young people who created them were troubled or struggling students trying to earn their high school equivalency degree. Were the murals to be removed and sold, they probably would not fetch anywhere near as much as the 200 subway art projects by professional artists commissioned since 1985 by the Metropolitan Transportation Authority’s Arts for Transit program.

But their value is measured in other ways, especially to the students who created them and to a neighborhood that has grown accustomed to them since they were installed in August 1989.

Looking back on a community art project that left a lasting impression on their lives, for some of the students it was a turning point. Others say they wish they had left a more personal mark on history. “When I see it now, I see all the love that I put in that work,” said Leeama Scott, 44, who was a young immigrant from Trinidad when she worked on the murals.

[photo: NY Times]

I made my way to Grand Central yesterday evening, filled with the early-January lament when one realizes the holidays are over, spring is not for several months, St. Patrick’s Day is no longer fun for people of a certain age, and, in short, there’s really nothing to look forward to for the foreseeable future.

Hammering home the notion is the fact that cheery holiday decorations have been replaced by spent Christmas trees on the sidewalk–greenery that’s been, quite literally, kicked to the curb.

I negotiated my way around  the discarded flora and hopped on the 5:46 at 5:45:30. I headed for the very back of the train, where I figured I had a better chance of scoring a seat.

The train was packed, as only a Monday train following a long holiday seconds before departure can be. The second to last car was jammed, I prepared to scoot through the door to the caboose. I waited for a man to pass through, a square-shouldered fellow with a dark buzz cut flecked with gray. He mumbled some negativity to himself, which I took to mean the rear car was seatless too.

I contemplated sitting on the floor by the side doors, as I occasionally do when the train is full and my pants are more than five years old. But my trousers were gray and relatively new, so I decided to stand.

On a whim, I figured I’d walk through a few cars toward the front, see if I could find something along the aisle up that way.

I’d just about passed through an entire car when I saw an open 1-3/4 seater, the Red Ryder carbine-action 200-shot Range Model of train seats. I figured it must be locked in an upright position, as many are so conductors can use the space to peer out the window. I can’t think of the last time I scored a 1 3/4 seater on a trip out of Grand Central.

I nudged it. The seat fell into a downright position. How had this coup de grace seat, this $100 bill in the middle of the sidewalk, gone unclaimed on a packed train?

My gloomy perspective changed as I took in our departure from the comfort of my sweet seat. Nothing to look forward to? Not hardly. By my back of the envelope calculations, it’s only a few weeks before we’ll actually see a hint of the fading sun when we leave work for the day.

I can live with that.

In a nod to bike-to-the-train folks such as TJ, JerseyJim, and the guy in medical scrubs on the fold-up bike in Hawthorne, Metro-North is inviting cyclists to test out new “prototype bike hooks” that have been installed on a pair of M-7 cars.

The hooked up cars are located on Track 28 in Grand Central.

OK, it’s a start. The only problem is, if you ride your bike to your Metro-North station, your bike is out in the ‘burbs–it probably doesn’t make sense for you to lug your bike onto the train just to test it out in Grand Central. This trial is certainly geared more towards reverse commuters than commuters.

But it’s a start.

I got nothin’ today, but fortunately Conductor Bobby’s got some great tales from the rails, including the “proud member of the Greenwich Country Club” who took a giant dump on one of his trains.

In other words, welcome back to work.

While walking down the platform I run into Paul, a fellow conductor who yards my equipment. Paul seems annoyed with me. He is from Queens and he peppers his language with colorful expletives.

Paul: Did you leave that fat gray haired F–K on the train yesterday?

Me: You mean “The Greenwich Country Club Member?”

Paul: You know what that F–K did? Huh?

Me: No, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.

Paul: That fat F–K put newspapers on one of the seats and took a big sh-t.

Me: Oooohhh!!!

A 10-year-old riding the Long Island Railroad all by himself Christmas Day met up with a concerned conductor and, eventually, a policeman.

The kid happened to be Izzy Skenazy, whose mother enjoys writing newspaper columns (and even books) about how her son rides trains by himself.

You’ll recall that his mother, Lenore Skenazy, wrote a column last year in the NY Sun wondering what age a child should be allowed to ride a subway by him or herself.

Skenazy then sent her son on a ride from Penn Station to Bayside to visit a friend, a trip he’s apparently made a dozen times. A conductor got upset and took the kid off the train, summoning the cops.

She writes:

The conductor and his superior got off at Izzy’s stop and then, as the train just sat there (I’m sure no one was a rush to get to their families on Christmas day), they awaited the police. I got a call from the friend’s dad who was waiting to take Izzy home. “We cannot leave the station,” he said.

“Why not?”

“The police have to decide what to do next.”

A few minutes later a policeman got on the phone and asked what had happened. I explained that my son often takes this train and that, in fact, the first time he did, we had asked at the railroad information booth, “What age is a child allowed to ride alone?”

There’s no specific age, the agent replied. But personally, she thought 10 sounded good, if there was someone waiting at the other end.

The police officer listened and agreed this sounded reasonable. He said as much to the conductor and the boss and they got back on the train. My son was free to go. The policeman wished me, “Merry Christmas.”

Little-known MTA policy (little-known at least to LIRR station agents) states that a solo rider should be at least 8.

So…is Lenore Skenazy a bad mother for sending her son on the train by herself–or simply for naming her son “Izzy”?

Gingerly, I climbed back on the bike this morning after a six-day break from the day-to-day grind. A fierce wind blew our recycleable garbage around the lawn. The stiff gears of the bike made an awkward clicking noise as I headed out the driveway. Or maybe it was my knees.

That gale got up in my grill as I ambled down Pythian, the same kind of Grinchian arctic blast that greets people as they emerge from the 6 train exit on 26th and Park. Have you ever tried to exit there, under the New York Life building? I often picture someone arriving to the city for the first time–a Polish immigrant looking for work, a Midwestern thesp gunning for Broadway–and getting hit by such a resistant wind as they attempt to open the door that it pushes them all the way back from whence they came.

Of course, I can’t quite picture a scenario in which one’s first step onto the New York City ground is 26th and Park. Maybe a Poughkeepsie emigre after a long ride on Metro-North and a short ride on the 6?

Speaking of a stiff blast to the face, the Doomsday Scenario for Metro-North riders calls for a 24-29% boost in ticket prices for the spring. What’s particularly irksome is that the 24-29% boost is to cover the 23% revenue increase the MTA needs to meet. Why the discrepancy? Because ridership tails off when fares go up, people opting for their cars, and the remaining train riders are forced to cover the extra cost.

On a brighter note, History Channel has the latest episode of Extreme Trains tonight at 10, as the host hops a freight train from Omaha to Sacramento and explores the building of the first transcontinental railroad.

Twas the night before Christmas, When all through the train

Metro-North riders were shaking off sleet, snow and rain

Their coats were slung on the racks high above

Their laptops placed right up there with love

 

The riders pecked at their phones and Blackberries

Shooting inane texts to every Tom, Dick and Harrys.

“Tickets please!” yelled the conductor as he reached for our passes

For those who couldn’t find them, he mumbled, “Dumbasses.”

 

At the front of the train there arose such commotion

We craned our necks to see what impeded locomotion

It was another train, lounging, ahead on the track

We wondered how long it would set us back.

 

“Sorry for the delay,” said the driver, “we’ll be moving soon.”

We sighed and stared out at the glowing half-moon.

When what, to my irritated mood I did see

But a train right behind us, headed toward me!

 

I told the conductor, who turned with a whirl

His eyes got real wide, he screamed like a girl!

“We’re screwed,” he said. “We’re doomed, we’ll die!”

On a sad stretch of Mott Haven we’ll eternally lie!

 

He yanked that red brake, the one just for emergency

We all quickly realized his sense of real urgency.

“Get on the floor!” he said. “Go! Get on your tookus!

A train is approaching, prepare for a ruckus!”

 

We did as he said to, our knees on the muck.

I tried to move over, then realized I was stuck.

We held our breath and waited for the crash

I tossed away my Sam Adams, afraid it would smash.

 

The conductor, a brave soul, jumped out of the train.

He stood on the tracks, his face streaked with rain.

“Stop it!” he yelled southward. “You must slow down!

Or you’ll knock each one of us all the way to Tarrytown!”

 

The train, it did lurch as it slammed on the brakes.

It trembled, it quivered, it had a case of the shakes.

The wheels squeaked on the tracks, smoke poured from the engine

The smell of burnt rubber told us something was singein’.

 

Oh Pleasantville! Oh Chappaqua! Oh dearest Mt. Kisco!

I’m afraid the 5:46 will sooner reach Frisco.

Oh Valhalla! Oh Hawthorne! Oh dreary North White!

We’ll be lucky if we even get home tonight.

 

We all watched in horror, fearing the conductor would perish.

Still, his bravery was something we’d cherish.

The train kept on skidding, making a deafening whine.

The kind you hear a lot of on the New Haven Line.

 

It came to a halt just shy of his nose

Its smoking wheels resting atop the man’s toes.

He yanked himself free and let out a sigh

So overjoyed were some riders they started to cry.

 

The conductor seemed OK as he came back to our train

He seemed to walk without noticeable pain.

His crew members told him to rest at the facility.

And then added, if this was LIRR, you’d get fat disability!

Happy holidays from Trainjotting!

Ten years since turning the old Pleasantville station house into the Iron Horse Grill, the eatery still excels, says the New York Times.

A decade before, writes M. H. Reed in “A Place That Still Has the Whistles and Bells,” Philip McGrath leased the charming old station house in Pleasantville, scrubbed down the thick river stone of the facade, remodeled the waiting room and ticket office into a quietly impressive, comfortable dining room and took over the kitchen of his Iron Horse Grill. The restaurant worked then and still does, although the village has blossomed and grown into a bustling destination.

Last spring, TJ and The Missus ventured up to Priusville and also had a terrific experience at the Iron Horse.

We wrote:

Located smack in the middle of the village, Iron Horse Grill wears its train past proudly; the name itself is a reference to the train that first rolled through P-ville around 1846. It’s not hard to envision the old waiting room, people seated along a long wood bench that takes up almost the entire western wall. A miniature electric train adorns a shelf near the entrance. You can see the trains fly by out the window, though you can hardly hear their rumble.

Entrees run around $28-30, and Iron Horse was still pushing a winter menu over the weekend–root vegetables, , braised meats, hearty soups, full-bodied wines.

The room was surprisingly packed for 6 p.m. on a Saturday, but never got uncomfortably loud.  

The Missus had the duck with spiced yams and I had a Chatham cod over potatoes with a beet coulis around it. Unfair as it may be, we always end up comparing suburban restaurants to those in the city. Iron Horse kind of invites such comparisons, with its classy decor, ambitious menu and not inexpensive checks. The Missus thought her meal was city-level in terms of ingredients and presentation, and a bit lacking in terms of flavor. I thought the cod was a tad bland, even for cod, but the beet coulis brought it to life.

Geez, was that my last dinner out with the Missus?

Westchester singer-songwriter Michael Nappi features a Metro-North train on the cover of his new CD, “Here We Go Again.”

Nappi is described by the Journal News as a cross between James Taylor and John Mayer, who actually rank #s 1,334 and 4,398, respectively, in terms of my favorite artists.

Nappi’s big radio song is called 7:26. The JOurnal News article is a bit confusing as to why the song is titled that: It may be the July date when it was recorded, or it may be a reference to the train on the cover–there is, in fact, a 7:26 a.m. train that gets you (or Michael Nappi and his guitar) into Grand Central at 8:01.

Here are the lyrics (and the song itself, for that matter) to 7:26 on Nappi’s Website. It doesn’t seem to be about trains but about a girl and a guy that aren’t quite seeing eye to eye–which seems to happen a lot in pop music. A snippet:

7:26
I was on the radio
Talking ’bout our lives
To people that I didn’t know
‘Cause every drop of rain
Has got a story to be told
Before it hits the ground
Giving up and letting go

Speaking of John Mayer, he was up at Blythedale Children’s Hospital in Valhalla today for their annual Christmas concert. I doubt he took Metro-North. I’m guessing his mode of transport was more likely track #9 on Nappi’s album. “Limousine” features this chorus:

You know it’s big and black
A circus in the back
Equipped with everything
Will make you feel just like a king