Standing at the entrance of the Christopher Street PATH station our bike trip had come to a standstill. I doubted I had the upper body strength to carry my Russian tanker of a mountain bike and Savanna’s snazzy Aqua blue Schwinn down those killer stairs. I had two choices: turn back now and send my daughter the message it’s okay to give up, or break my neck trying.
I was ready to offer Savannah ice cream in exchange for nixing the idea of biking in Hoboken when I heard a voice from behind. “Can I get this for ‘ya?” it said.
Before I could turn around, a 30-something man in white t-shirt and baseball cap had picked up my Russian tanker and was running down the miles of dirty, concrete steps. He quickly returned to fetch Savannah’s, picking up her bike with the grace and ease of a figure skater lifting his partner in the air. Before I could properly thank him he was three leaps down the train platform.
Luck striked again on the Hoboken side when a father took pity on a single mom with two bikes and offer to carry them up the stairs.
New Yorkers often get a back rap for being heartless and cold. In my experience, they’re not. And last Sunday, grateful for the kindness of two strangers, I was reminded of the compassion and generosity of New Yorkers.