Month: March 2023

Turtles All the Way Down

Today was that kind of day that started great then ended with a thud.

Little Nellie and I have been getting along splendidly ever since I put H-bars on the bike. My hat’s off to the crew at Bikes at Vienna for transforming this bike that had become, quite literally, a pain into a bike that feels like a magic carpet. It’s quite a lot of fun to ride and the wide handlebars that I selected do an unexpectedly good job of absorbing road shock.

I knew today would be the first mow of the season so I wanted to get in at least an easy ride beforehand. (You gotta have your priorities straight, you know.) Parts of the lawn have barely begun to grow while others have deep, thick grass. I expected the latter to be rough going.

After riding Little Nellie 35 miles yesterday north to the DC cherry blossoms, I decided to ride south to the neighborhoods of Hybla Valley and Woodlawn. As I walked into my backyard to fetch my bike I came upon a visitor, a box turtle. He was stopped in one of those spots in the lawn with barely any spring growth. The turtle didn’t shy away as I took its portrait. Box turtles can live anywhere between 50 and 100 years so there’s no telling if the turtle was visiting my house or I was visiting his. Since my neighborhood was developed about 60 years ago it is entirely possible that this little critter has been around longer than my house.

Backyard buddy
Just passin’ through.

Last summer I did an odd maneuver on a two-lane highway in Kansas to save a box turtle from getting run over. I crossed over to the left lane to force an on-coming driver to drive around me and miss the turtle in the process. It worked, but a few minutes later the underage driver’s parents came after me and went all kinds of crazy with road rage. It was an incident that was truly alarming, especially in light of the fact that Kansans are generally the most chill drivers in the country. The scary encounter was well worth it though, because the box turtle was spared a grim fate.

I was slightly underdressed for today’s breezy 50s but that didn’t subtract much from the joy of spinning along the flat roads of Hybla Valley. I crisscrossed the suburban landscape, traffic-free because the entire western boundary of the neighborhood is a nature preserve. I saw a half dozen retirees mowing their grass, giving me a good case of the guilts.

The Woodlawn area located between Fort Belvoir and Mount Vernon is another low traffic place that features a few gentle hills that keep things interesting. There’s also a backyard bald eagle nest that I like to check out. Nobody was home in the nest so I’ll have to go back another day.

I arrived home a bit chilled after 31 miles. I put Little Nellie back in its storage spot and looked around the backyard for my little friend. The turtle was nowhere to be found. I suspected in the three hours since I encountered the little guy, he had made his getaway onto the farm next store. Over the years I have seen a turtle – perhaps even the same one – wedged along the bottom of the fences around our yard. I assumed he had headed to the farm because beyond the farm fence, there are all kinds of places that a turtle can hide, safe from the neighborhood predators (foxes, raccoons, dogs, raptors).

A big bowl of hot soup and some indoor time allowed me to warm up a bit before heading back out to mow the lawn. After about 30 more minutes of prep, I was underway in the backyard. All was going well until I hit the tall dense grass in the back left corner of the yard by the fence along the edge of the farm.

The grass was really thick and I was laboring to push the mower through it when I felt and heard a thud from under the mower. I pulled the mower back expecting to see a ball or some other obstacle but instead I saw the turtle. It had been hunkering down in the tall grass only a few feet from the fence. It had made it about 150 feet across the yard since I saw it in the morning.

The poor thing never stood a chance. Its end was brutal and quick. Looking at its remains almost made me throw up. How could I be so stupid. Ugh.

I gave my friend a proper burial in the garden then went about the rest of my business.

What a horrid end to a beautiful day.

Rolling Isolation

I tested positive for the Covid virus about 72 hours ago. I still have no symptoms other than those from my seasonal allergies. It seems that every lawn crew around is spreading shredded bark mulch which causes my sinuses much distress. I found out the hard way by spreading it in my garden years ago. A good snout-ful makes me seriously sick. I am also allergic to tree pollen, specifically pine and cedar. It’s a bit ironic that my childhood home was down the street from Pine Tree Lane and that I moved to Mount Vernon which is full of cedar trees.

In any case, I have been vaccinated five times, have had Covid once already (a very mild case), and I am taking Paxlovid. I must have antibodies out the wazoo.

Other than the allergies, I feel fine. So I took The Mule for a ride to DC to take in the cherry blossoms on Wednesday. It was a day before full peak bloom and the Tidal Basin area was packed. I had masked up on the Virginia side of the river and was otherwise careful to hold my breath whenever I passed or was passed by someone on the trail.

Even though I was masked I avoided the throngs at the Tidal Basin, surfed through the cars in East Potomac Park and made my way to Hains Point which had surprisingly few people. After returning to the Tidal Basin area I made my way away from the crowds to the National Mall. On the north side of the mall, with fewer people around, I rode west to the Lincoln Memorial and then home. A 36 1/2 mile jaunt. Not bad for having a supposedly deadly disease.

For what it’s worth the best time to see the blossoms at the Tidal Basin is at sunrise when there are few people and slanting rays bouncing off the blooms and the water. Of course, the best way to get there is by bike. I am not just saying this because I ride. The area becomes an epic car sewer as the day progresses. (Walk around the basin (never ride on the sidewalk.)

Yesterday I rode to the Kenwood neighborhood of Bethesda, Maryland. All the streets in this stately old slice of suburban heaven are lined with cherry trees, mostly quite ancient, in full bloom. WOW. It is really much nicer than the Tidal Basin. There were very few cars and just some folks rolling and strolling beneath the canopy of white. It is incredibly peaceful and beautiful. It is easily accessible off the Capital Crescent Trail which runs from Bethesda Row to the Georgetown waterfront on the Potomac River. (Turn off on Dorsey Road, midway between River Road and Bethesda Row.)

After my half hour of zen, I stopped for a snack along the Capital Crescent Trail, once again away from others. Then I rode the trails home. Another 46 1/2 miles in the books on The Mule.

The only down side to the day was the lousy shifting on The Mule, caused most likely by stretching shifter cables. I will deal with this in a day or two.

On the way home I received a text that my wife’s car battery had died. When I got home I tried a few tricks to get it started. I scraped some corrosion off the battery’s negative pole. Then I turned off all the accessories in the car. I turned the key in the ignition. Click. No luck. Dead battery.

This morning instead of riding to Friday Coffee Club, I jumped the battery using my car. It’s a bit of a hassle getting the cars to line up and to figure out the proper positioning of the cables. I took off my mask to read the instructions on the cables. The instructions were ambiguous. As I was futzing around with the cables my helpful neighbor Ted saw me struggling an came over to help, looking up the proper procedure on his phone. He then walked me through it standing a few feet away, the cars awkwardly angled between us.

Success. Then the perils of being asymptomatic struck. I went to thank Ted and as I shook his hand I suddenly realized “Oh no. I have Covid.” Derp. He went inside his house to wash his hands. Being outdoors I doubt I infected him but it was a reminded that I need to be more careful.

We next drove to the mechanic. I had the windows in my car open and my wife drove her car. I masked and stayed outside, well away from the mechanic. I drove my wife home, she being masked and recently recovered from Covid herself.

This illness would be a lot easier to navigate if I was actually, well, ill.

I contacted my bike mechanic to let them know I won’t be picking my bike up until late next week.

According to the CDC I should be in the clear by Sunday and non-infectious by next Friday or Saturday.

Cherry trees at peak in Kenwood
Kenwood – note the temporary pink no-parking signs.

Covid tag

About ten days ago, my wife arrived home after a 13-hour drive with her octogenarian mother. The next day my wife became sick and tested positive for Covid. My daughter was home from law school for spring break. We all masked up and kept our distance.

After some Paxlovid and four or five days of misery, my wife recovered and tested negative, as did the rest of us. How the heck my mother in law tested negative after being in a car that long with my wife is a mystery. (My negative test result came before I went to Friday Coffee Club, which was held outdoors so no worries for the caffeine crew.)

Crisis passed, right?

Tomorrow I was planning on driving my mother in law home to Indiana. Despite having nothing but allergy symptoms, I took a Covid test just to be sure.

I tested positive.

Get out of here! So I tested again using a different type of test kit.

I tested positive.

The only symptoms I have are allergy symptoms. The cedar tree outside my window is orange, covered in pollen. I have been sniffling and sneezing and had itchy eyes for a week or so. Otherwise I feel completely fine.

This is my second bout of Covid. The last one was at the end of July when I returned from my 2019 bike tour. I took Paxlovid and had a mild case. I was vaccinated for the fifth time last October.

Of all the people in our household this week I was the one that did the most distancing and mask-wearing. And I got the damned disease again. No wonder the medical profession has had such a hard time dealing with this virus. It makes no sense.

I will be a good boy and take it easy. I’ll wear a mask. I’ll avoid other people. I’ll eat some chicken soup.

Once in my college years my neighbor and I came down with the flu. After three days of feeling wretched we decided to through caution to the wind and drink some single malt Scotch. The next day we were both fully recovered.

I bought some Guinness for St. Patrick’s Day and never got around to drinking any. I wonder if it has anti-viral properties. In the interest of science I will investigate.

The Mule cracks me up

When I go on bike tours I try to think of everything that could go wrong and plan accordingly. I carry a kevlar spoke in case one of my spokes breaks. I bring along a folded tire in case I have a catastrophic tire failure. There are, however, some problems that you can’t do much about. Number one is a break in your frame or fork. Theorerially, if your frame and fork are made out of steel, you can find a welder to repair it.

Yeah right.

Basically, if your frame or fork breaks, your tour is over.

Another tour killer is a broken rim. On my 2005 tour, I felt something fishy going on with the rear wheel of my recumbent. I limped into the town of Frostburg, Maryland and got very lucky. I found a bike shop, one that had not yet even opened for business, that had a wheel builder. The manager found a rim in the basement (they didn’t even have their stock displays finished in the store) and built me a rim overnight.

That wheel eventually failed but it got me through the tour and several thousand miles more.

I replaced it with a Velocity Dyad rim which is still on the bike,

I haven’t looked closely at a rim in a long time. I can tell when the sidewalls of a rim are worn out when the start cupping. The concavity grabs brake pads. Because of this I knew that The Mule needed a new front wheel. When I dropped it off at Bikes at Vienna I told Beth the mechanic to replace it. She recently returned from bike mechanic school and was eager to test out her wheel building skills,

Whenever she gets a bike she looks it over closely. She knows that I’m going to ride thousands of miles on the bike so I appreciate her attention to detail. A day after I dropped it off she contacted me and said I needed a new rear wheel too.

Hmm. I hadn’t noticed any problems.

I told her to go ahead and build another one.

I picked up the bike yesterday. It has two shiny, new, Beth-built Velocity Dyad rims.

She kept the old rims for show and tell. Here’s what my rear rim looked like.

The rim on my #specializedsequoia touring bike. Kinda glad it held together during my tour last year
Let’s put 40 pounds of gear on that bad boy and ride to Maine. NOT.

This kind of damage doesn’t happen overnight. In fact, it probably takes a good 10,000 miles of loaded touring. It doesn’t help that I’ve hit hundreds of potholes, tar patches, and root heaves during the time this rim was on my bike. I’m willing to guess these cracks were in place during the last part of my 2022 tour. Now imagine you’re riding along on this wheel with 40 pounds of gear and you hit a bump or a pothole. Eek. It’s safe to say that a catastrophic wheel failure while descending a mountain pass at 35 miles per hour would ruin your whole day.

Incidentally, as I mentioned, Beth is meticulous. After she built the wheel she had someone else check it over. My job is to put the bike through its paces to stress test the wheels in the next week or so. I already did a 7-mile test ride. So far. so good.

Meanwhile, Beth is giving the CrossCheck it’s winter physical. I already know t needs a new front wheel.