Sergio walked back beneath the overpass, took up his megaphone, and whooped the siren, signaling to workers riding up First Avenue to wait and form a group before crossing. It read WE ARE ON GUARD TO PROTECT OUR DELIVERY WORKERS. Cesar watched, his arms crossed, as his older cousin Sergio Solano and another worker strung a banner between the traffic light and a signpost on the corner. The headlights of their parked bikes provided the only illumination. Several other workers had already arrived. Whatever happens on the bridge is blocked from view by the highway. Across the street, through a lattice of on-ramps and off-ramps, was the entrance to the Willis, which threads under the exit of the RFK Bridge and over the Harlem River Drive before shooting out across the Harlem River. On a humid July night, his last dinner orders complete, Cesar Solano, a lanky and serious 19-year-old from Guerrero, Mexico, rode his heavy electric bike onto the sidewalk at 125th Street and First Avenue and dismounted beneath an overpass. Lately, delivery workers have found safety in numbers.
We’re the wildebeests just trying to get by.” “You ever see wildlife with the wildebeest trying to cross with the crocodiles? That’s the crocodiles over there. “Once you go onto that bridge, it’s another world,” one frequent crosser said. All summer, food-delivery workers returning home after their shifts have been violently attacked there for their bikes: by gunmen pulling up on motorcycles, by knife-wielding thieves leaping from the recesses, by muggers blocking the path with Citi Bikes and brandishing broken bottles. The narrow bike path along its west side is poorly lit darkened trash-strewn alcoves on either end are useful for lying in wait. The Willis Avenue Bridge, a 3,000-foot stretch of asphalt and beige-painted steel connecting Manhattan and the Bronx, is the perfect place for an ambush. This article is a collaboration between New York Magazine and The Verge.
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