After 5 weeks of driving to work, I finally returned to bike commuting today. As they say in Providence, it was a scorchah, 80 degrees at 6 o’clock in the morning. The ride in was effortless and way too short at 15 miles.
In recent weeks the Morton’s Neuroma in my left foot flared up. Basically, it feels like someone put a nail in my foot between the 3rd and 4th toes. Last summer I saw a podiatrist who gave me a series of rather painful injections designed to relieve the pain. They worked temporarily, but after the last one most of my forefoot went numb. I am pretty sure I don’t want my foot to feel like a nerf football, so I surfed the interwebs last night in search of an alternative treatment.
I found some videos on the web demonstrating a technique designed to relieve the pressure between the toes. Essentially, this involved putting the fingers of one hand in between the toes of the opposite foot. And then gently moving the fingers. I tried this and it worked a bit so I was encouraged.
Today while looking down the foot care aisle of the drugstore near work, I found these weird rubber-ish thingies that do essentially the same thing.
You put it on and work it gently between the toes, then leave it there for 5 minutes. I bought a pair and tried it out after lunch at my desk. I’ll be damned if it didn’t work better than the finger massage. So maybe there is hope of some relief. It looks pretty weird. Check it out.
Having been in SUV jail for the better part of the month, I decided I had to get away from home for a ride. So I put Little Nellie in the trunk of the car and drove to The Plains, a quaint town in Virginia hunt country. We did a 46 mile ride up and down hills, around curves, past acres and acres of beautiful farmland. We saw an awesome eagle swoop low over the roof of a one-story house as I took a snack break. We also had a nice talk with a member of DC Randonneurs, a group that takes distance riding pretty darn far. 600 kilometers in one weekend would probably kill me but these blokes revel in it. One of the big rando ides in America is Boston-Montreal-Boston. Just thinking about that distance and the mountains is enough to send me to the nervous hospital. (I love French fried p’taters.)
Of course, if they were riding through this area I could see why they’d want to ride forever. One beautiful vista follows the next. Little stucco houses alongside the road. Humongous mansions set back a quarter mile on a hill. Even a private airport (owned by the Mellon family). Mocking birds chirp constantly and cattle and horses graze without a care. Little Nellie took one steep and bumpy downhill too fast and jettisoned a water bottle just before the bottom of the hill. I could have used that momentum to get up the next rise but I never abandon a full bottle. (A carry over from my college days.)
At the end of the ride, Little Nellie stopped to contemplate a sign. Where to next?