Hartford by bike

I'm drawn to smaller, former industrial cities, that some people would call perhaps somewhat down at their heels (I would call lovely). Chalk it up, perhaps, to being the daughter of a man from Bayonne, N.J. Indeed, when I arrived in Allentown, Pa., to begin a newspaper reporting job, I looked around and said to myself, "This reminds me of Bayonne so I'm good."

My current small, former industrial, "down-at-the-heels" city is Hartford, and it might be the most stunning of them all (I say down at the heels, but what I mean is: no longer in its heyday -- a fate so many cities in America face, given the way the proliferation of cars and the particular construction of interstates through urban neighborhoods changed how Americans lived and worked, decades ago).

But yes, I said stunning because one thing I've discovered in every small, former industrial, down-at-the-heels city I've haunted is premium housing stock. No longer pristine, perhaps, but you can't hide leaded-glass windows or turrets or widow's walks or grand wraparound porches. If they're there, you can peer through the neglect to see the original glory.

But I may be off on the wrong foot because the homes in the neighborhood of Hartford I've been prowling are more or less pristine. I bike, mouth agape, at the real estate treasures I encounter just north of Farmington Avenue, not far from Elizabeth Park (seen in photo). Grand homes, huge homes, homes that say, 'Now wouldn't you want to come inside?' Oh yes I would.

I am touring the neighborhood by bike, which is perhaps the perfect mode of transport. I can cover more ground than I would on foot, and I can breathe the neighborhood in, in a way traveling by cars obviates.

I am not really much of a biker, more of an explorer, but I have often used my bike as a means of acclimating myself to a new place, after decades of moving around for my work. I get the lay of the land -- on two wheels.

During the pandemic it was a particular good way to fool yourself into thinking you had done something or been somewhere. That's because I like to have little small destinations that I bike toward. For example, I often bike to the UCONN Law School campus on the western edge of the city of Hartford (see in this photo that was published on the school's Twitter account).

In some ways, it's an interesting "third place," or really probably a "fourth place," because I go there when I don't want to buy anything, I don't want to browse, I don't want to participate in commerce -- I just want to be dazzled visually while allowing the mental state exercise induces to wash over me.

And UCONN's Law school dazzles me visually and simply fills me with joy that something so beautiful is a mere bike ride away from house -- free for me to take in anytime I want.

I actually attended grad school for Italian literature at UCONN's Storrs campus (the main campus) but what I wouldn't have done to commute to this gorgeous little campus! Maybe I need to get a law degree, too?!

It actually reminds me of Yale's campus in New Haven -- I kid you not. Probably because of its Gothic architecture, and also specifically an arcade that I joyfully bike through (I believe there are similar such mini-tunnels at Trinity College in Hartford, which also has a Gothic feel).

Our single-family homes are what make American cities and towns particular -- each home is potentially a shrine for a certain aesthetic. Each home has a personality -- that's ours for the taking simply by biking by.

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