They Call Me "Mr. Buzz"

Woke, up, fell out of bed.  Dragged a comb.. no. No need for a comb. I went to the barbershop on Saturday and told the barber I wanted my hair to be this long all the way around. I held my thumb and index finger about1 or 2 inches apart.  As he began cutting he started asking me baseball trivia.  He had no way of knowing that I am a Red Sox fan.  Not so much these days, but I went to BU and lived 3 blocks from the green monster of Fenway Park my sophomore year. Tony Conigliaro was beaned on my birthday.  I know Bucky Dent’s middle name.  So he asks me who was the last major leaguer to win the triple crown and I said Carl Yastremski 1967. He couldn’t believe I knew. So he asks some more. I missed one about Teddy Ballgame.  Long story short, he pretty much forgot about “this much.”  I have a crew cut. The upside is that my big bald spot no longer feels lonely. And I can shower much faster after I commute by bike. One of my co-workers has taken to calling me “Buzz.” He thinks it’s funny. 

It had rained just before I left the house so I had to take care on the wet pavement.  At Belle Haven Park I spotted something I’ve been eagerly awaiting, goslings. One of the pure joys of bike commuting is watching goslings grow.  These were already pretty big, but still in that cute fuzzy stage. I tried to take a picture with my iPhone but it’s pretty useless for these kinds of shots. (I broke the screen on my Nikon Coolpix camera over a month ago. I took it back to Ritz Camera under the warranty I bought. They sent it out to be repaired instead of just replacing it. Someday I may see it again. If I had known it would be gone for five weeks, I’d have skipped the warranty and bought replacement camera instead. Lesson learned.)

Pedal. Pedal.

I came upon the DCBD  (Detour of Certain Bloody Death) at the Wilson Bridge. This morning the crew was jackhammering near the gravel transition.  They had no clue when bicycles were passing. I can’t believe that Bicycling Magazine calls Alexandria a Bicycling Friendly City.  Then again, Bicycling is the worst magazine about bicycling.   (I get it as part of my League of American Wheelmen – I’m old school – membership.)  I did my best Fred Flintstone imitation to get through in one piece.

Under the TR Bridge I spotted a small patch of mud in the river below.  There were duckings nearly invisible on the mud next to Mother Mallard. I stopped to take another iPhone picture. Useless. In the shallow water next to the mud patch I spotted a 3-foot catfish.  I was feeling like Marlin Perkins.

A few minutes before 5, some workers kicked me out of the office to repair a water leak in my wall.  I moved into this spanking new office about a month ago.  It’s newness was nice while it lasted.

As I left the office I checked the #bikedc Twitter feed. There were a series of tweets about thunderstorms in the area.  I hit the street and was immediately buffeted by wind gusts. Dark clouds were churning above. In five minutes I was on the bike trail and some sprinkles were hitting my fairing. Two miles later as I approached the 14th Street Bridge rumbles of thunder gave way to huge rain drops coming down faster and faster.  They were cold raindrops, too.  I could barely see but, since I was already wet, I kept riding. And the cold rain kept cold raining.

Just past the airport, the rain gradually came to an end. I was soaked.  I passed by the bog north of Slaters Lane and spotted a gorgeous great blue heron.  After Old Town I saw a rabbit.  I figured with all this wild life I’d see a little bald eagle action. No such luck.

I diverted to the drug store to pick up some sinus medication (why don’t they call it the Medication Store?) Flonase is to DC like quahogs are to Rhode Island.

From the looks of things the storm clouds were following me.  I hurried home to avoid a second soaking.

[Insert long piano chord]

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