I'm on a bus idling outside the youth hostel at Amsterdam & 103rd. My bike is in a Penske van with two dozen others. Its pedals are in my helmet, which is stowed in the overhead luggage compartment.

My alarm went off at 3:12 AM. I gave it its bottle, turned off the one next to the bed set for 3:20, and was out the door at 4:05, pedaling through black humid air. I hit the Queensboro Bridge around 4:35 (that's the 59th Street Bridge to you city sophisticates), and was recognized as a fellow tourer in midtown soon after traversing 57th. Talked all the way uptown. He's a chef, between jobs. Beard, glasses, extra-lean build, steel road bike. I don't know where I stand in the cycling ability hierarchy, so it was nice not to be winded as we pedaled and chatted, riding double, livery cabs swinging wide.

It's a 2-hour bus ride to the start of the tour. I'm signed up for the 55-mile route.

Bus PA announcement: If someone on the bus left a helmet with pedals in it on the sidewalk, come get it.

Laughter & jokes ripple through the bus, and I realize I left my iPod in my rack pack. No music on the trip upstate.

And it's light and we're off, heading uptown past streets empty except for guys here and there dressed like Huggy Bear, and 60 tired people of all ages and builds in shorts discuss what time they got up this morning. It's unanimous: 3:00 AM.

I have no seat companion.

More later...

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