Month: June 2013

A Regular Tuesday

Is started the day by almost choking on my breakfast. The Washington Post had a big picture of people doing acroyoga. The man on the bottom holding a woman aloft was Raphael, who did the same for my friend Flor a couple of years ago.

With the threat of rain in the afternoon, I switched to The Mule for the bike commute. It was an unusual ride in one regard, I passed seven regulars. That may be some kind of record. It started with the Hoppy Guy, a runner with an awkward hop in his stride. Next up, just outside the Beltway was the Three Step Runner, so named because she runs three steps then walks several before running three steps more. In Jones Point Park, the Hardware Store Man came rolling by on his Serotta. Next up was Nancy “One Bag” “Wave Crash” Duley veering off of Union Street as I approached. I would have been offended but she yelled out at me that I had surprised her by not riding Big Nellie.

Near National Airport, I passed the Trash Walker who had two hands full of trash. Our special guest this morning was Grafxnerd Clone, who reminds me of Laura (@grafxnerd) on Twitter) from Friday Coffee Club.

Although not a regular, Joe (@josephlrc) from Friday Coffee Club made an extra special guest appearance near National Airport. He surprised me so I didn’t get to say “Hello” or do the nod the head thing.

The ride home looked like it might be a wet one, but the rains had passed and I was treated to my second tailwind of the day. I survived the mad streets of Rosslyn. As I turned onto the bike path, Shawn (@shawnofthedread) appeared.

The ride home was uneventful but for a cute field mouse that reminded me of our late great dwarf hamster, Deuce. Oh, and the six Swedish bikini girls who called out to me in Belle Haven Park. I made that up. Belle Haven Park was decidedly uninviting because it still smelled like a sewer.

On the long gradual uphill near the Morningside bald eagle nest, a man on a Lightning recumbent sped past me. I have bent envy.

Northdown Road was a muddy mess, but the road crew was still at work. They waved me through. My chain skipped annoyingly on the hill up to the stone bridge. I have a new chain and cassette so this should not have happened.

I arrived home about 10 minutes earlier than usual, thanks to the push from Mother Nature. I wish tailwinds were a regular

Monday, Naked and Shameless

Big Nellie, having escaped arrest for indecent exposure over the weekend, took me to work naked this morning. She was naked. I was clothed.  Just want to make myself crystal clear about this.

The plunge down Park Terrace Drive was rather breezy. We hit 35 miles per hour. I was wearing loose shorts so let’s just say the feeling was rather festive.

I cruised down the Mount Vernon Trail, spotting yet another snapper turtle next to the trail. I am guessing that it was laying eggs. Either that or it was mooning me. It’s hard to tell with the shell.

If the downhill breeze up my pants didn’t wake me up, the reekage in Belle Haven Park would have. There were large pools of standing water that smelled like a sewer. The mallards didn’t mind though. (Remind me not to order duck the next time I eat at a fancy pants restaurant.)

Past the park, I spotted a chipmunk.on the edge of the trail. I wish he hadn’t skittered away. He was pretty cute.

Three of my regulars were out and about. Nancy (Wave Crash/One Bag) Duley was spinning under the Woodrow Wilson Bridge. She had no bag this morning, probably trying to sneak up on me. Having had stench up my nose and a 35-mile per hour wind up my shorts there was no chance of pulling a fast one on me this morning.

A half mile later near Ford’s Landing, I passed Hardware Store Man on his Serotta.

I could tell I am getting used to the naked Nellie when I hit the two boardwalks near Slaters Lane without slowing. I just trusted the bike and it carved through the turns. Wheee.

Just before Rosslyn, I came upon an incredibly skinny runner. She had to be anorexic. I could see every bone in her legs. Her thighs were no bigger than my forearms. I hope she was heading to an iHop. (Seriously, she looked like death. Very scary.)

I was worried that I might have to ride home in the rain. The last time I did I crashed  I still have a red mark on my right knee to show for it. No worries. The road was dry. I could have done without the headwind though.

South of the Memorial Bridge, a kid about 12 years old was sitting in the grass next to the trail fiddling with his bike. I asked if he needed help and he said, “Yes.” He said he had crashed and his chain was all messed up. I couldn’t see any evidence that he was hurt in any way, but his chain was definitely all screwed up. It had somehow jumped over the crank arm and was dangling on the front derailer cage. The chain stay (the tube connecting the seat tube to the back wheel) had all kinds of scratches in the paint. I fiddled with the chain, shifted the front derailer, gently moved the crank arm and, Voila!, fixed. Of course, if it had been my bike, I’d have broken the chain or the derailer or both. Kid, it’s your lucky day.

Cruising along opposite the Washington Monument, a woman of a certain age rode toward me on a CaBi (bikeshare) bike. She smiled at me and said, “Nice bike.” Recumbents are chick magnets.

Sitting at a picnic table near Gravelly Point, a man was doing what looked like Tai Chi. He had some good mojo going from the waist up.

I dropped into the zone and moseyed along at 13 miles per hour. I was on autopilot until I spotted something moving on the trail south of the still stinky Belle Haven Park. It was a little turtle crossing the trail in the direction of the river. I pulled over to give him an assist. He saw me coming and actually sped up. I could see his finned back feet pushing him along. When I got close, he stopped and ducked into his shell. I backed away and he skittered off the trail on his own power. I think this was a very young snapper. Pretty cool.

South of Tulane Drive the trail is being renovated. Two short wooden Northdown Roadhdown has been bridges will be replaced. The Park Service is building a bypass that will be for walking bikes around the work area. Farther south the trail connects with Northdown Road. Nortstripped of pavement and the cobblestone shoulders have been removed. The work crews are pretty patient with trail users so safe passage is not a problem.

I arrived home sweaty. Cotton t-shirts aren’t the best choice for muggy DC bike commutes. I called the local pharmacy to have them refill a prescription expecting to pick it up tomorrow night. The pharmacist apparently used to work in a pizza parlor because she said “Five minutes” when I asked her when it would be ready. The pharmacists get a kick out of seeing me with my bike helmet so I rode the 2 ½ miles to the drug store and back.A 32-mile naked Monday. I do believe I’ll do it again tomorrow. Nellie is shameless.

Big Nellie Naked

]I had intended to go for a monster ride today, drive out into the country, take Big Nellie off her leash and let her rip. I stupidly didn’t get my butt in gear until 10 so the opportunity for  a century an hour drive away was lost. Instead I went into my basement looking for a cue sheet for the Southern Maryland Century, which starts in Indian Head MD, only 20 minutes from my house. During my search I found a cue sheet for a metric century (64 miles) in eastern Prince Georges County MD 30 minutes from my house.

So I took off Big Nellie’s fairing (a windshield made of Lexan) and plopped my long wheel base recumbent on my bike rack. And off I drove.

When I pulled into the park where the ride began, I saw a couple hundred cars parked. What are the odds that I would randomly pick this cue sheet on the day of this year’s ride? I felt a bit like a gate crasher. Riders on fast bikes were finishing as I was getting my bike ready, so it was unlikely that my ride would overlap with anyone’s in today’s event.

As I went to put Big Nellie’s fairing back on, the Lexan around one of the mounting holes snapped off. I have literally had this fairing duct taped for a couple of years so this wasn’t really a surprise. It has taken an incredible beating for ten years and nearly 30,000  miles.  So we rode naked. (Good thing, too, because halfway through the ride the mounting hardware broke!)

Kaput
Kaput

The fairing helps a lot when riding in windy conditions. It adds a couple of miles per hour on descents. And it weighs down the front wheel, balancing the weight distribution of the bike. Riding without it, however, makes the bike feel completely different. The front end feels lighter. The bike climbs a little better because it is lighter. On a warm day, the breeze across my body feels great. The biggest benefit was entirely unexpected: I could see the road. The fairing had been scratched so badly that I could no longer see through it. I have been compensating by braking a lot and leaning to the side to get a better view of the road surface ahead of me. No more.

The ride does a big figure eight along the Patuxent River, which separates PG County from Calvert County. I doubt the terrain gets more than 200 feet above sea level. Never the less there is quite a bit of climbing because the rest areas are the banks of the river. Every rest is rewarded with honest work.

The first twenty miles were a blast. My legs were fresh and I was trucking. I had fun waving to the event riders coming my way. I did quite a bit of hill hopping, screaming down one hill and using my momentum to blast up the next. I knew I’d pay for my early speed later in the ride but I didn’t care. I was zipping along at over 20 miles per hour, something I never get to do during the workweek.

The first rest stop was deserted so I took a quick look at the river. A park employee commented on my bike. We chatted and she told me about kayak and canoe rentals. The river looked inviting but I had riding to do.

I kept trucking, perhaps a bit slower than before. I chalked it up to bigger hills and headwinds. About a mile before the next rest stop,  a car pulled along side me and the driver asked me if I was okay. Weird. Then it dawned on me that he was the sag wagon, looking for stragglers from the event. At the next rest stop, the volunteers were loading all the food and drinks into cars. I parked a discrete distance away. One of the volunteers came over and offered me some food and drink. Don’t mind if I do.

The ride up from the river was considerably harder than before. I was slightly over half way. No problemo. It was, however, getting hotter and the humidity was rising too. Pedal, pedal.

A guy on a fast looking road bike blew by me on a hill. He stopped at the top. I later found out that he was waiting for a friend. The two of them volunteered at a rest stop and were getting some miles in after their good works. We talked a bit at the next rest stop. His friend gave me some pretzels and I took some pictures of them with their camera. They loaded their bikes on two cars and I rode off. Uphill. Ugh.

The route diverted into Charles County for a few miles. I saw a vulture in the middle of the road. Do I look that bad? No, he was busy with some road kill.

The last few miles back to the start were flat or downhill. I finished strong but was plenty pooped. 64 miles. Naked. Big Nellie didn’t blush once.

Kono Coffee

The weatherman warned of nothing but sprinkles for my ride to work. It sounded like a good day for me to wear sandals and ride Big Nellie to Friday Coffee Club. I stepped out of the house ready to go when the sprinkles became a steady rain. Urgh! I prefer to ride The Mule in the rain so I went back into the house to put on some cycling shoes and a vest. Back outside, I saddled up and headed for DC.

I’d only ridden 6 or 7 miles since Sunday. Biking with fresh legs is joy. The pedals seem to go round automatically. I could hear the gears make a buzzing sound. Pedal, pedal, buzz. Riding up North Royal Street in Old Town Alexandria I watched as a young girl broke away from an older girl and dashed across the street in front of the SUV that I was behind. The SUV stopped and the girl made the crossing unharmed. She had a sheepish look on her face that made it clear that she knew she had done something foolish. As I rode past, I told her “Don’t do that again!” I hope she remembers. SUVs make for unpleasant pedestrian experiences.

Trash Walker said hello as I passed him near the airport. It must be good to be retired and healthy.

I crossed Maine Avenue and something seemed different. It wasn’t until I saw a tweet from Katie later that I realized that the terrible rutted and potholed road surfaced and been repaired.

I arrived at Swings to see the early birds already in attendance. As usual most of the Friday Coffee Club folks in attendance were guys except for Lisa who usually leaves before I arrive and Kel who I haven’t seen in quite a while.  Chris rode his monster bike. I forgot to get a picture. The tires are so wide that I couldn’t get my hand around the tread. (As the owner of a clown bike and a rolling lawn chair, I am in no position to make disparaging remarks about his choice of two-wheeled transpo.)  A few months ago Jesse was visiting from Seattle. He was back today with the news that he had moved to DC.  Welcome to the madhouse!

Felkerino arrived on his massively impressive CoMotion tandem with his daughter riding in the stoker seat. Then one by one women began arriving. It was a cascade of femininity, the likes of which the Coffee Club has not seen in ages. Reba, Rachel, Mary, Kristin, Katie, Kirsten, and Kate (making it a 2-Kate Coffee extravaganza) all grabbed a seat. Somehow Mike and Bob (Don’t Call Me Rachel) Cannon sneaked in undetected.  Even with satellite versions of Friday Coffee Club now operating in the burbs, we were overflowing with cheerful faces.

Finally, our guest of honor arrived. Lauren (@lkono), a Coffee Club fixture from early on (which is to say last spring), moved to Dublin last fall to go to grad school. I am ever impressed with how she can bike around this city dressed in stylish clothing and not look the least bit disheveled when she arrives at Swings. (I ride ten feet and I look like I slept in  a ditch all night.) She’s only here for a couple of days before jetting off to do field work in rural Brazil. (Lauren, can I have your life please?)  Suffice it to say, we were all happy to see her. Felkerino took a picture of Lauren and me. (Lauren, can I have your bangs while we’re at it.)

After Coffee Club I still have a couple of miles to go to get to the office back in Virginia. The Teddy Roosevelt Bridge has become my route of choice. I was passed by two inbound cyclists who didn’t register with my brain. I think they were Shawn and Mark, who have both been known to appear at Swings on Fridays.

The ride home was marked by the usual car hassles in the Rosslyn Circle of Death (RCOD). Two cars, one in the left-most lane and one in the center lane, were about to take right turns on red, directly in front of me. I yelled at both and they stopped but not before fully obstructing the crosswalk and curb cut I use to get onto the bike path. (Bitch about scofflaw cyclists all you want, but I can show you some seriously dangerous drivers on a daily basis in the RCOD.)

There are few things more life affirming than a tailwind on the ride home on a Friday night. The Mule and I felt like Dave Stoller and his racing bike. I could almost hear the overture to Rossini’s Barber of Seville. (You’ll note that I felt like Dave Stoller, but The Mule does not follow semis doing 60.)

The Mount Vernon Trail was somewhat crowded, mostly with bike riders going too fast and not announcing their passes. It won’t be long before I see another rider on the ground from this stupidity.

At Gravelly Point a man sat under a tree and played his trumpet  Bike  commuting is often made better when you have musical accompaniment.

Down near home, the Mount Vernon Trail merges with Northdown Road. Road construction crews are busy rebuilding the road. It needed it because it was nothing but one bumpy patch after another.

Tomorrow I hope to get out for a long ride in the country. This will require getting out of bed early which seems dubious in light of the fact that it is 12:45 as I type this.

Buona notte, Fellini.

And Don’t Call Me Yertle

I love my Ortlieb panniers. They are simple to use and take a ton of abuse. I loathe my Ortlieb handlebar bag. Like the panniers, it has one compartment and it is waterproof. Unlike the panniers, it is a beast to open and close, even when you are not in motion. If you can’t get to your stuff inside the bag, it’s useless. It’s a bag in serious need of a redesign.

I ordered an Acorn handlebar bag a couple of weeks ago. It’s a pretty interesting design. Unlike the Ortlieb’s red denier nylon (which is admittedly pretty sharp looking), the Acorn bag is made out of heavy canvas. It has four compartments. The front two compartments are covered by a big flap. The main compartment under the flap is intended to stay closed while you ride. It has a zipper that runs the width of the bag. In front of that and still under the flap, is a smaller pocket that looks perfect for snacks. On the back, there are two small compartments, just the right size for a phone and a camera. They open very easily which means I can finally get at my camera.

I had to move my bell and my bike computer around a bit, but I think this Acorn bag is going to work out just fine.

New Bag Front
Acorn Bag on Little Nellie: Front View
New Bag Rear
Acorn Bag on Little Nellie – Rear View

I have two mounts for the Ortlieb bag, one for Little Nellie and one for The Mule. The Mule’s bag mount has a reinforcing cable on it. Once you take off the cable, odds are you won’t get it back on. So I put the Acorn on Little Nellie.

Little Nellie and I went for a ride to tweak the new set up. It was 80-ish degrees and muggy. T-shirt weather. We cruised over to the Mount Vernon Trail. I could hear all kinds of big birds cawing above the tree tops, but I couldn’t see them. I peeked at the Morningside bald eagle nest; there was no eagle action. About a half mile later ,I came upon a big snapping turtle just to the right of the middle of the trail. I stopped to check it out. Soon I had company as we waved other trail users around the beast that was about the size of a Frisbee. I have seen snapping turtles laying eggs on the side of the trail in the past, so we assumed she had just done the same here. (The turtles brace their front arms on the edge of the trail and flail away in the dirt with their legs, digging a hole to deposit the eggs into.) We could see a couple of patches where the dirt on the side of the trail had been freshly disturbed.

Snapper
Yertle before the move

 

Momma turtle was not wearing track shoes this day, so one of the cyclists who stopped gingerly picked up her up and placed her on the side of the trail. She was not amused, but he was quick and gentle. (Do not try this at home. If you don’t know what you are doing, you could lose a finger. These suckers bite.)

Digression No. 1: when our kids were little, we used to take them to the Virginia Living Museum down in Newport News. (If you have kids, I guarantee that they will like this place.) There is a small river that runs along the back of the building. We were walking on the boardwalk along the back and watching a momma duck swimming a hundred feet away with her ducklings all lined up behind her. Suddenly, one duckling disappeared under the water. It popped back up. Then, as if yanked from below, he went back under, fanny first. I do believe he became a turtle snack.

I stood around to see what the turtle would do. She was pretty pissed off at being moved, but ten seconds later she calmed down. Calm turtles not being really exciting, Little Nellie and I left.

The rest of the ride was pleasant and unremarkable. I rode up to Crystal City then back along Army Navy Drive where I lived when I first moved to DC. I had read that some new bike lane-age had been put it at the intersection with Joyce Street. It looked like, um, paint. Some bike geeks get worked up about these things. I ain’t one of them.

Digression No. 2: What I did notice was that the street was riddled with embedded wires so that cars can trip the light and reduce waiting time. One day when I lived up the street, I convinced the future Mrs. Rootchopper to buy a bike. I’d ride to the bike shop and she’d walk and take Metro.  I came down the hill aboard my Raleigh Grand Prix on Army Navy Drive toward Joyce Street. The road was wet from a recent rain. I hit my brakes just as I rolled onto one of the embedded wires. To embed the wires a thin cut is made in the asphalt. Later a sealant is applied. Unbeknownst to me, the sealant is like ice when it is wet. I went down really hard and slid into the intersection. People jumped out of their cars to tend to me. My left side was bruised pretty badly from my thigh up to my armpit. I turned around and headed for home. The future Mrs. Rootchopper was walking down the hill. Suffice it to say, I was not exactly the poster boy for the joys of cycling. She eventually bought a bike, but hated cycling. It’s slow. It’s buggy. You have to eat while doing it so you can’t lose weight. Basically, she found it useless. She quilts instead.

I rode back home and made sure to check on Yertle. She was nowhere to be found.

Andrea vs. The Mule

Andrea, the first tropical storm of the season, sneaked into DC on little squishy sneakers last night. You might think that this is a bad time to ride a bike to work. You might even be right. You might also know that I am not about to listen to such nonsense. So The Mule and I headed for DC and Friday Coffee Club.

Before we got out of the driveway we were greeted by our first critter of the day, a box turtle next to my son’s car. He (or she, can’t much tell) was looking a little befuddled. I followed the prime turtle directive and left him/her alone and headed out.

The rain was not too heavy. I wore an old Orioles baseball hat that had some paint stains on it. The long bill of the baseball cap, I reasoned, would keep the rain out of my eyes. And it did. The only downside was that it’s hard to see far ahead when riding a conventional bike. I got slapped in the face by two rain-weighted tree limbs on the Mount Vernon Trail. As soon as I cleared one (Whap!) I rode into the next (Whap!).That certainly woke my ass up.

I was pretty much alone all the way to town. A few runners were taking advantage of the respite from hot and muggy conditions to get their ya yas out, but the bike commuters were sitting this one out. Fortunately, a huge great blue heron wasn’t. I saw him flying just above the water, parallel to me over the Potomac River. It always amazes me that the Seussbirds can be so graceful and efficient when on the wing.

I enjoyed the tailwind and noticed that the planes from National Airport were taking off with the wind instead of against it. This is very unusual. One noisy American Airlines plane seemed to get very little lift as it headed out over Gravelly Point.

Friday Coffee Club was once again an all guy thing, until, that is, @Nikki_D showed up. At its peak, I think we had ten people there. Not bad for a rainy day.

I was concerned about the weather for the ride home. The forecasts called for heavy rain, thunder and lightning. Luckily, it was a light persistent rain instead. About a mile into the soggy ride, I was passed by Bob (Don’t Call Me Rachel) Cannon who sat next to me at Coffee Club in the morning. The headwind was as persistent as the rain but the combination actually felt nice. The Mule and I made steady progress. Once again the MVT was nearly empty. Near the Slaters Lane turn off, French Braid Kate came by DC-bound. If the weather was bothering her, I couldn’t tell.

South of Old Town I noticed two trees had fallen over from all the rain. One apparently was diseased; the part that hit the MVT seemed to shatter on impact. The trunk was sheared off and obstructing the right lane of the trail. We rolled by. Here and there pieces of rotten tree limbs were strewn along the trail. It occurred to me that a helmet would have been useful in the event of a limb crashing down on my noggin. (This once happened during a storm in Belle Haven Park. A limb dropped directly in front of my bike. It missed my noggin and the rest of me.)  My noggin spared I rolled home soggy but satisfied that Andrea had lost  and The Mule had won.

French Braid Kate

After several days of swamp weatherFren followed by a monsoon, I was relieved to see sunny skies and feel cool, dry, breezy air this morning. This is perfect New England running weather, but it will do just fine for a DC bike commute. There have been a spate of articles lately about bike helmets. It turns out helmets are pretty useless for anything but the worst kind of crash and don’t do a blessed thing to prevent concussions. In all my years riding with one on, I’ve hit my head on the ground once, and that was a glancing blow that I may have avoided altogether but for the weight of the helmet. (My daughter’s helmet once kept her head from going down a storm drain, but that’s a story for another day.)

I can understand the concern about head injuries but you’d think they’d design helmets with the most common head injury in mind. Nope. What seems strange is that there is no call for widespread use of body armor by cyclists. I have smashed my left arm dozen times or so. At one point I took to wearing rollerblade elbow pads because my left arm was running out of meat for crashes!  Nobody has ever required me to wear elbow pads at a cycling event. (I have since learned to sacrifice my left butt cheek during crashes.)

All this helmet talk is preamble to the fact that today I eschewed (yes, he used “eschew” again!) my helmet for my official 2004 Boston Red Sox World Series Champion baseball cap. It doesn’t protect me against a concussion either but at least it shades my eyes and I can doff it at pretty girls as I ride past.

Speaking of pretty girls, I saw French Braid Girl on the way to work. She is relentless. I’d bet I see her on 90 percent of my commutes.She pretty much has the same expression every time we pass. (It says, “What a pathetic dude you are.”)  I also saw Hardware Store Guy on his Serotta, and The Hun on the way to work. The Hun is a new regular. He looks like he should have horns coming out of the side of his helmet. He has dark facial hair to complete the look.

I keep trying to get pictures of my regulars but they come and go so quickly that I can’t get my camera up and ready in time. Today, I got a picture of French Braid Girl. My photography skills being only slightly better than my climbing ability, her mother would be lucky to ID her from this picture. I’m betting her name is Kate though.

French Braid Girl

The ride home was as splendid as bike commuting can get. An asshat on a mountain bike passed me as another bike approached and a runner jogged in front of me. Mr. Studjumper nearly causing a four person accident. Seconds later, I was lost in the bliss of cruising along at 20 miles per hour with the wind in my fairing. Life is good.

Lloyd Bridges, phone home

I knew I should have worn my waterproof jammies. By the time I retrieved my newspaper from the end of the driveway, I was soaked.  I stalled my departure to no avail and headed out aboard The Mule for a nautical ride to work.  

There’s really no way to dress for this sort of thing. If I put on a rainproof jacket, I get all hot and sweaty. If I don’t, I get all wet and possibly cold. I opted for my illuminite vest and a cotton t-shirt. I packed a second t-shirt for the ride home.

I was squishy after one mile, but the vest kept me warm so that it was actually kind of pleasant. I wore my Bike Virginia 1991 cycle cap under my helmet to keep the rain out of my eyes. After twenty minutes it was saturated with water. Water was pouring into my eyes and mouth. I could taste the shampoo from last night’s shower. Yum. At least I had a tailwind.

I hit 32 miles per hour on the Park Terrace downhill. This would have been fun but for the car that pulled out 100 yards ahead of me causing me to ride my brakes. Not that they did a damn bit of good. Fortunately the car rolled through the stop sign at the bottom of the hill. Disaster averted.

At the GW Parkway crossing, the cross traffic was incredibly heavy. I waited two minutes in the deluge. Not a happy camper.

The Mount Vernon Trail was deserted. It would appear that most trail users eat quiche on a regular basis. The rain was coming down so hard that the Canada geese in Belle Haven Park were waddling next to the trail when they normally hang out at the river’s edge.

Once at the half way point the rain abated. French Braid Girl came rolling past, wearing no additional clothing to thwart the rain. Her sole concession to the elements was that she was not wearing her RayBan aviator sunglasses. She didn’t appear to be nearly as wet as I so there was hope for the remainder of the ride.

I started seeing people after Four Mile Run, commuters from Alexandria and South Arlington. Most people were plodding along. I passed more people than passed me, a highly unusual occurance.

On the ride up the steep hill to Rosslyn, I spotted two bunnies along the side of the trail. They didn’t seem the least concerned about me rolling past. The underbrush where they hide must have been flooded.

The radar on my pc said I’d be riding into nasty weather on the way home. It lied. It was actually a pretty nice ride. I saw the Nine Hour Lawyer riding up the hill to Rosslyn. The Mule and I headed down to the MVT with a light tailwind making this a two tailwind day. With no rain coming down, I could focus on the ride. The handling on The Mule seems to be very stiff. I don’t know what is going on. Maybe I need to fiddle with the headset a bit.

South of the airport, French Braid Girl made her northbound appearance. The aviators were back on. All was right in the world.

Under the Wilson Bridge, a father watched as his two little kids rode their bikes in circles. If you know anybody with a kid learning to ride or who needs a safe place to pedal, tell them to go to Jones Point Park and ride under the bridge. It’s shaded, protected from most of the rain, and the pavement is smooth as silk.

At Northdown Road crews were working on finally repairing the road. They were tearing out cobblestones along the edge of the road. This is going to take a while.

I arrived home to a swampy yard. I put The Mule and my snorkel away.

May by the Numbers

I had all kinds of conflicts in May but still managed a 710.5 miles of bike riding. Sheesh! Two rides accounted for 208 miles of the total. One was a group ride to and from Baltimore. The other was a solo ride to East Jesus, Maryland and back. The remaining mileage was mostly commuting. I rode to work 13 times for 395 miles. I rode on 20 days out of 31. Two of those days were short hops to test out adjustments to my bikes.

I have been dogged by breathing problems for months. A few days after the Baltimore ride they went away only to come back. Yesterday and today, they were mostly gone. I hope they don’t return. I am also dealing with hot foot, a condition that recumbent riders get. It’s hard to describe but my feet get fatigued after lots of pedaling, but only on my recumbent.  My biggest physical bitch has to do with the fact that I managed to gain weight while riding 700 miles. Life’s not fair, is it?

I’m over 2,800 miles for the year with 68 bike commutes. I figure June will be a lot like May. Except my daughter will be a high school graduate. And, did you know that June is car maintenance month? I’ll be shuttling back and forth between various garages and my office. It’s something I truly hate to do, but it’s got to be done. After September when both kids are in college, we’ll have two functional rolling metal ornaments in front of our house.

The Beat of a Different Drum

Many of my biking friends in DC were headed for the Tour de Fat, a big bike themed party to raise funds for local biking organizations, to have fun, and to promote Fat Tire Beer. Seemed like a good idea to me, but I have been meaning to see my friend Lisa’s taiko drumming group for quite a while. Her group was performing at the Washington Folk Festival at Glen Echo Park at 2. I hoped to get to the Tour de Fat in time to sample some liquid refreshment.

The ride to Glen Echo Park is pretty easy except for a short hill that goes from the C&O Canal up to the Palisades neighborhood of DC.  The ride there was as nice as a ride can be. It was 90 degrees and I had a tailwind. I took a couple of longcuts on the way and arrived with 12 minutes to spare. Even so I missed the very beginning of the drum performance, but it wasn’t at all hard to find; I just followed the thunder!

There were two groups: the newbies who had only been drumming for four weeks and the experienced drummers. Experience brings more complicated rhythms and showmanship. The leader and his wife did a duet of sorts. Dang, they were good. Lisa’s group did three numbers. She really gets into it. She smiles and her arms are flying all over the place. Nice job, Lisa. The best part was when the entire ensemble played together with layers and layers of different rhythms.

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Lisa (center) puts a hurt on her drum

I imagine taiko drumming must be good therapy. It’s physical and aggressive. There’s a social aspect to it. There’s even some shouting mixed in with the beats. The audience got into the shouting thing a bit. There was also a point in the show when the drummers came down into the audience to pick people to play a number with the group. I am thankful that Lisa didn’t come and get me!

After chatting with Lisa and her husband Robert, I rode across town to the Tour de Fat. My route took me on K Street in Georgetown. A few blocks of Wisconsin Avenue, one of the main drags in Georgetown, was closed to cars from K to M Street. It looked like a big party. In the new waterfront park between K and the Potomac River people were hanging out enjoying the fountain and the river scenery.

The Tour de Fat was in Yards Park, around the corner from the Washington Nationals baseball stadium. I could tell when I was close to the event when every stationary object I passed had several bikes locked to it. There was also valet parking at the event itself. There must have been hundreds and hundreds of bikes.  I tethered Big Nellie to a lamppost and hoofed a couple of blocks to the entrance. The WABA table was the first thing I saw. Alex and Rachel were there looking incredibly cheerful given the fact that they’d been outside in the heat all day. (One oddity of the day. Despite the fact that I saw hundreds of cyclists, I did not see a single Kate all day.)

The beer line had a sad little sign that said “Last Call 4:30”. Since it was 4:30 and the line was long, I decided to forgo a cold one and walked around the park. Most people were watching a band play. I wouldn’t think that a band led by a woman singing and playing a bass drum and a guy fiddling next to her would appeal to me, but they were very entertaining. I could have sat down and watched the performance but I was wilting in the heat.

I rode home the way I came, down the Mount Vernon Trail. In Old Town Alexandria I rolled past a big party at city hall plaza. The DC are sure was in a festive mood today. South of Old Town, two photographers with very long lenses attached to their cameras were walking toward the Morningside bald eagle nest. I’d have stayed to chat with them but I had my eyes on the prize, air conditioning at home.

51 and a half miles after I started I pulled into my driveway. A Saturday and a rider well spent.