So I was riding across a pedestrian crossing linking the cycle path over by the Hudson, to my hotel on Jane Street. Yes, I saw the police van, but I swear I was riding as my New Yorker buddy had shown me, with no regard for any laws but those specifically mentioned by Isaac Newton. As I proceeded to ride on the "sidewalk" (aka footpath), the good boys in blue emitted an ungodly siren-like honk from their van. Alright, I knew they were "talking" to me, but I’ve seen this movie before. My role is to carry on as though I assumed they were talking unto a criminal, not my fine self, surely. One turn and one doorway later, and they had been eluded. I was not worth pursuing on foot. It does thrill me though, I must say, to think I am now a fugitive. I’m like Bonnie and Clyde, Joe from Hey Joe… in this film set city, I’m the lead in my own movie. So I’m riding to the Southern tip of Manhattan, in the direction of the Mexican border. The Classic road movie, on a miniature bike, on this miniaturised planet, New York.