A Perfect Kind of Spinal Tap Smile

I woke up with a sense of dread. I could just tell it was as cold as Nome outside. I went out to get the newspaper. Yep, Nome. I checked the thermometer. It said this:


Gulp. This is a Spinal Tap morning.

I ran upstairs for another layer of clothes. After eating breakfast I stepped out into the cold.

Mostly I was warm in about two miles. Except my fingertips just would not warm up. Dang, they hurt. The sun was rising when I arrived at Dyke Marsh but I didn’t take a picture because I would have had to take my hand out of its glove. Take my word for it, the sunrise was mighty fine.

I continued riding. The cold air took my mind of of everyday concerns. It was just me, my breathing, and the passing scenery. I was in the zone. Just rolling along. This is the only way to go.

I made it to Friday Coffee Club and was surprised to see so many bikes parked outside. I was followed inside by Dr. McMurdo, Science Mom. We had a chat in line waiting for our brews. Frankly, they could have just poured the stuff on my feet. I wouldn’t have cared.

The bike commuter crowd had already packed itself around two tall tables, so I was lucky to commandeer a third. I was joined by Ricky, Ted, Lis (not a typo, she’s peculiar about thiz), Jeff, and Andy (whom I had not previously met). We discussed physical therapy (which most of us seemed to have some experience with) and nerve flossing (easily the sketchiest thing I have heard of in a long time.)


After coffee, I rode to the office. I reached the TR bridge and rode all the way across its narrow side path without havingf to stop for a single DC-bound cyclist. This is called a “perfect” by Brian. It is only my second TR bridge perfect since I started riding to coffee club three years ago.

I managed not to get nearly kiiled in the Intersection of Doom.

The ride home was notable for only two things. As I rolled past a massive storm drain conduit where run off from Rosslyn’s streets dumps into the river, I noticed the water was an unnatural blue/green/slime color. Right at the edge of this nasty looking liquid was a great blue heron all tucked in onto itself.

A few miles later I passed an oncoming runner. It was a young woman bundled up against the cold. Our eyes met and she gave me an ear to ear smile. It was the perfect exclamation point to a might fine week of biking to work.

The rest of the ride home was pretty much as good as it gets for a Friday in winter. The sun stayed up for most of the ride home. Good of you to cooperate Mr. Sol. (Mr. Sol being one of Neil Young’s awesomest songs, by the way.)

Despite the lingering cold of winter, this week’s bike commutes went to 11. Practically perfect in every way.


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