September 2024 – Wet/Nice/Wet

The weather in September 2024 in the mid-Atlantic suffered from bipolar disorder. It started out rainy but then we were treated two two weeks of gorgeous weather. The last two weeks have been a washout. Fortunately for me, when it rains this time of year, the droplets are warm. Riding in the rain has actually been kind of pleasant.

Biking

With both The Mule and The Tank back from the bike shop, I was ready to ride my steeds into autumn. During the nice weather weeks, I did a 56-mile ride in the Virginia Piedmont. I wasn’t feeling all that strong at the start but I listened to Mitch McConnell and I persisted. I was aided by a MASSIVE club sandwich at a country store in Orlean at the 20-mile mark. The climb up Naked Mountain was pretty tough, even with the new, lower gearing on The Mule. The traffic and rumble strips on US Highways 17 and 50 was nasty but I had a good time regardless. I followed this ride with a couple of 40+ mile rides, one on The Mule near Middleburg, Virginia and the other on The Tank in Talbot County, Maryland. The latter featured me running out of gas on the drive to the start and a pleasant 10-minute ferry ride.

Otherwise I solved my where-will-I-ride-today problems by running errands by bike. My bikes took me to a building supply place in suburban car hell, to a pharmacy to get a flu shot, to the polls to vote, to a diner to have breakfast with my wife, to Nats Park three times, to Friday Coffee Club four times, on a fruitless search for the best Italian sub in DC, and on a tour of auto body shops to find a good place to take my car (my neighbor backed into my car with his big pick up truck a couple of days ago).

The Washington Area Bicyclist Association’s 50 States Ride came around on the calendar and I was once again joined by a fabulous posse. This year we had Michael, Kevin, Chris, and Sara back from last year and several new additions. New friends of the posse included Neena, Richard, Imogen, Wolfgang. Mac, Constance and, at the next to last pit stop special guest John. This was my 16th 50SR and one of the toughest. Many of us will be riding together on the WABA Cider Ride in early November. There will be pie.

For the month I logged 940 miles, my first sub-1,000-mile month since May. I will begin October with 7,945 miles for the year. If I average a little over 22 miles a day until the end of December, I’ll break 10,000-mile mark for the seventh straight year.

Watching

Baseball – The Nationals closed out the season by bringing up a bunch of young players from the minors. And the results were pretty much as expected. Mediocrity. The best thing the Nats have going for them is the bike valet at the ballpark, conveniently located 15 miles from home.

Movies Monsieur Spade is a six-part noir mini-series in which an old Sam Spade gets involved in shenanigans in a French town. Everyone is trying to find a young boy, but why? Like the Maltese Falcon, the boy is a classic McGuffin. Clive Owen plays Spade. Understanding the plot requires some knowledge of French involvement in Algeria in the 1950s. Unfortunately, this info isn’t provided until the next to last episode.

From Russia with Lev – A documentary about how a Ukrainian grifter became an intermediary for Rudy Giuliani and Donald Trump in Ukraine, helped Trump get impeached, and destroyed himself and many others in the process. Absolutely fascinating how a nobody could become a close associate of an incompetent and corrupt president.

VIdeos – I looked forward to the end of each week to watch the latest installment of Mat Ryder‘s ride across the country.

Reading

North Woods by Daniel Mason. The tale of events in a single home somewhere in western Massachusetts. The story begins in the 1600s and continues episodically into the 21st Century. Along the way, it touches on aspects of American history including the Puritans, apple farming, abolitionism, murder, lobotomies, the loss of native flora and fauna, and more. Sound weird? It’s not. A very fine book.

The Last Murder at the End of the World by Stuart Turton. This one’s a whodunit set on a island after an apocalyptic event. Rather than explain why, let’s just say this one wasn’t my cup of tea. After 200 pages and dozens of red herrings, I could not have cared less who did the murder or why.

What fools these bicyclists be – 50 States 2024

Saturday was the Washington Area Bicyclists Association’s annual big fundraising event: the 50 States Ride. The ride is a triumph of marketing over sanity. Participants pay $80 to ride 60 hilly miles in the heat and humidity (when it’s not raining), all within the eight wards of the District of Columbia. Did I mention that the streets are open to traffic? We’re havin’ fun now!

This year was the 21st running of the 50 States and my 16th time participating. I’ve been riding WABA events with Chris, Michael, and Kevin for several years now. Remarkably they have not grown tired of my company. A couple of years ago Chris invited Sara with whom he worked. The five of us form the core members of the posse. (Domitille, a sixth recent member, had to miss this year’s ride due to injury. We hope to have her back in the fold for WABA’s Cider Ride in November.) Our posse members invite others to join us. This year Chris invited Isabon, Sara invited Jenna and Richard, Kevin invited Neena. Isabon brought her father, Wolfgang. Monica, who rode the last couple of rides with us, decided to volunteer at a pit stop but sent along Constance and Mac.

The course changes every year. Lately it has gone clockwise around the city. The course is tweaked to show off new bicycle infrastructure, sponsors’ projects, and changes to the cityscape. Having done this ride since 2006, I can attest to the fact that DC today is vastly different than it was 18 years ago.

Funny. It looks flat on this map.

The dozen of us lit out from the start in the Edgewood neighborhood smack dab in the middle of DC. We timed our departure to avoid other groups whom the ride organizers send out at intervals with ride marshals. We don’t mean to be antisocial but when you get over 20 people of different skill levels riding together in the city the congestion can get stressful. There were a few miles where we were bunched up with other groups but by and large we were successful riding as an independent unit. As is often the case, we adopted a couple of course marshals, Micah and Stephen, along the way. At the rest stop around 45 miles into the ride I was greeted by an old friend. John is the father of one of my son’s best friends from high school. He was riding the event for the first time and looked considerably fresher than me.

Two Johns at the Wegman’s pit stop in Northwest.

Michael decided to ride the entire ride on bikeshare bikes. Every so often he’d veer off course to trade in his bike for another. I think he gets some sort of points from the bikeshare folks and avoids rental charges. He managed to obtain electric assist bikes for the hillier sections. We hate Michael.

Chris told me that his GPS file indicated there are 11 significant climbs along the route. I counted 45, a triumph of misery over digital mapping science. The worst climb goes one steep mile from MacArthur Boulevard to Macomb Street in the northwest section of the city. After a brief downhill, this monstrosity is followed by a second, soul-sucking half-mile climb up Cathedral Heights. Six miles later we descended into Rock Creek Park only to climb right back out for a mile. Dang.

Instead of using the digital file, I use the paper cue sheet. Actually, it’s a 18-page booklet containing nearly 270 cues. This virtually ensures that I will make a wrong turn. This year I set a PR, making four wrong turns. (Actually one was semi-intentional as I saw three of our riders obeying the GPS audio instruction and turning a block early and going off route. I followed them in order to lead them back to the course.) Ironically, earlier in the ride after we crossed over the Washington Channel, a course marshal made a wrong turn entering East Potomac Park. I ignored the error and stayed on route. The Mule abides.

The clockwise course seemed somehow hillier than in prior years. I struggled for most of the ride even though The Mule had a new, lower climbing gear thanks to Beth at Bikes at Vienna. It may have just been the heat (mid-80s) and humidity at work or perhaps the fact that I’m old, decrepit, and grumpy.

By 58 miles I had had enough. We could have gone straight to the finish but the course meandered through the campus of The Catholic University, along the super nice cycletrack on Irving Avenue Northwest, and past the bizarre looking McMillan Sand Filtration site which is being developed into a mixed used community by one of the event sponsors. After McMillan we had a tedious one-mile ride in heavy traffic to loop back to the finish.

After the ride, the posse hung out at the after party which, owing to our slow riding pace, was all but over. Still we ate some sammies and hydrated our weary bodies. (I went all Stanley Kowalski and had a Stella.) I guess the ride was a success because several posse members expressed an interest in doing the (considerably easier) 60-mile Cider Ride in November. Well done, y’all.

Most of the posse after the ride. Clockwise from left: Richard, Chris, Me, Sara, Michael, Constance, Mac, Jenna, Micah, Kevin, Neena.

Many thanks to all the volunteers and WABA staff for all their hard work on this event. Special thanks to Mike and Lisa who convert their home in Tacoma into a very welcoming pit stop every year. And to Patti Heck who stood at the corner of Alaska Avenue and Geranium Street Northwest to take photos (links above) of riders as she has done for many years now.

Gassed and Windblown

With the prospect of several days of rain ahead, I decided to drive over to Easton, Maryland to do a ride on level ground. The ride would include cool grave yards, colonial era towns, a ferry, and corn and soy fields. Most importantly there would be no hills.

There being no hills, I opted for The Tank, my Surly Crosscheck. This bike is heavy and, despite a recent modification to its gearing, is best used on this kind of terrain.

I have put about 1,000 miles on my 2009 Honda Accord this year. The last time I bought gas it cost me about $3.70 per gallon. My wife, who drives considerably more, has been telling me about finding gas for under $3.00. With a fuel gauge indicating I had a tad less than 1/8th of a tank, I headed out to the Eastern Shore of Maryland in search of cheap fuel. No problem. My gas tank holds 19 1/2 gallons.

By the time I reached the Bay Bridge, I had gone about 50 miles. My fuel gauge indicated that my tank was empty but, as we all know, the needle on the fuel gauge always goes below empty before the tank is truly empty, right?

I made it over the Bay Bridge and started scouting out a gas bargain. I passed a dozen gas stations, all of which had prices in the high $2.90s. With the needle in the empty, red zone, I continued on. Some basic math indicated that I should have plenty of fuel left. As the highway turned toward Easton, I passed a gas station that was partially obscured by some box trucks. No worries, I’ll just go to the next one.

There wasn’t another station for over 20 miles.

With the station in sight on the opposite side of the divided highway, I was about to change lanes to turn toward it when my car said, “Not today”. The engine sputtered once then cut out. Did you know that cars lose speed remarkably quickly when they run out of fuel. A total car bonk! The traffic behind me not so much.

I looked to the right and saw that there was no shoulder, only a drainage ditch. Eek.

Luckily the turn for the gas station was at a signalized intersection with right and left turn lanes. I guided the car into the right turn lane and rolled to a depressing stop.

With my emergency flashers on, I decide to hoof it to the station. I emptied one of my three water bottles to use as a gas container and started out. Cars were lining up at the red light. A white SUV rolled up and the driver asked me if I was okay. I explained my situation and he asked, “Would you like a gas can?”

Yeah, buddy.

He turned onto the road to the right, stopped, and pulled a small gas can out of the back of his hatchback. I thanked him profusely and told him I’d be back in a few minutes. After a long wait to cross the highway at the light, I made it to the gas station, bought about 2 gallons of fuel and headed back to my car.

On the way back, a passenger in a different car waiting at the red light leaned out the window and said something like “I hope your day gets better.” Despite the hassle of running out of gas, I realized at that moment that I wasn’t the least bit upset. After all, I had been driving for 52 years and this was the first time I had run out of gas.

My car, and my bike on a rack on the rear, thankfully, had not been rear ended. I decanted the gas into the gas tank then drove to the side street to return the can. The SUV was nowhere to be found. I stood around holding the orange/red gas can high so that perhaps my Good Samaritan would see me. No luck. In the end I drove off to Easton with an empty gas can and some heartfelt gratitude.

Once in Easton I saw a sign for $2.85 gas. Yes! When I got to the pump, I saw that it was a special rate for Royal Farms club members. I being a Royal Farms philistine paid $2.97. When karma meets irony, you pay the man, Shirley.

As for the ride, it was a tad shorter than planned. I stitched the ride together from the excellent brochure from Talbot County (of which Easton is the county seat). The brochure shows six rides of between 26 and 38 miles. Color coded maps and cue sheets are included. And one master map shows all six rides. I started on the blue route, switched to the brown route, then planned to finish on the green route.

The first 15 miles on the blue route featured a strong tailwind out of the east. I zoomed from Easton to Saint Michaels with ease. After meandering in Saint Michaels for a while, I headed east into the wind, crossing the Tred Avon River on the Bellevue-Oxford ferry. From Oxford I continued east, switching to the brown route, a tour of interesting old graveyards. Along the way, I watched farmers in their big corn harvesting machines taking in the last crop of the season. The machines look like massive green barber shears on wheels.

At Dover Road I turned to join the green route, a tour of more farms, mostly soy and corn. Somehow I managed to miss a turn and ended up on a highway that would cross the Choptank River. I checked the Google and realized that crossing the river would add about several windy miles to my ride.

Having already ridden about 20 miles into a strong headwind, I decided to pack it in and reversed course back to Easton, going off route in the interest of exploring some backroads. It was a good decision. Forty one windy miles was enough for me on this day.

I highly recommend the brochure. If you are looking to get away from the city and want some easy, low-stress riding, Talbot County is a good choice. The ferry ride is my favorite, but make sure to check the ferry schedule. Also, bring cash for the $7 one-way fare.

Saint Michaels
When there are no cars waiting, bicyclists and pedestrians can summon the Bellevue-Oxford ferry with this signal
The Tank on the Talbot
New pavement, pine needles, no traffic. Works for me.
The rail trail in Easton.

Two weeks going local

It’s been two weeks since I took a day off my bikes so, despite today’s perfect weather, I’m chilling. Here’s a recap of some recent excursions.

September 1: I rode Little Nellie to the Nationals game against the Cubs. Things went downhill right after Bill Nye, the science guy, announced “PLAY BALL”. The Nats lost 14 to 1 but the ride was nice.

Bill Nye gets things started

September 2, Labor Day: I read about a shop on Capitol Hill that sells the best Italian sub in the area. I lit out on The Mule in search of sammie perfection. Sadly, the shop was closed for the holiday. Not to waste a day in the city, I rode a few miles north to Dave’s ghost bike at the corner of Florida and 12th Street NE. The bike marks were Dave was killed by the driver of a stolen van in 2019. When I arrived the bike wasn’t there. As I moved closer I saw that it had been moved a bit up the street during a sidewalk renovation project. Ironically, the city removed the protected bike lanes on Florida during the work. Next, I rode Florida across town to Meridian Hill Park in Adams Morgan. The park was filled with people relaxing in the gorgeous sunny weather. This not being Sunday, the noisy drum circle was not playing. Yay, for quiet in the city! I rode home via Rock Creek Park and the Mount Vernon Trail.

Statue of Joan of Arclooking out over DC from Meridian Hill Park

September 3: I once had a book called the Washington Area Bicyclists Atlas. It contained a few dozen cues sheets and maps of rides in and around DC. In photocopying the rides, I destroyed the binding and the book fell apart. I did keep the cue sheets and maps from a few rides. The Mule and I did the 56-mile Pedaling the Piedmont ride. The ride starts in Marshall, Virginia and heads ten miles south on windy country roads. The route turns north for a 20-mile leg along the base of the Blue Ridge on Hume Road. I stopped at a country store for lunch, an amazing, thick club sandwich. I made my way back to the start via Naked Mountain, a rather difficult five-mile climb, and around Sky Meadows State Park on bust US 17. The last few miles were through Rectortown on a stupifyingly pretty country road. The new, lower-geared cassette on The Mule passed the hill test. This was my first ride wearing a vest since May.

September 4: The Mule and did a 32-mile recovery ride in the neighborhoods near home. We finished at the Safeway near home where I received my 2025 flu shot.

September 5: Another easy 30-mile local ride on The Mule followed by re-seeding an area of the back yard lawn that was fried during the summer’s multiple heat waves. I topped the day off with my latest Covid-19 shot.

September 6: The shot or maybe some Diet Coke at 7 p.m. ruined my sleep. I rode The Mule in a mental fog 15 miles to Friday Coffee Club in DC. Sleepless rides aren’t very fun but I got my 30 miles in for the day.

September 7: The Mule and I rode the Virginia Hunt Country ride from the Atlas. This one is to north of the Piedmont ride through The Plains and Middleburg. Although there were clear skies at home, a storm front passed through the ride area about 40 miles to the west. A helpful clerk at gas station convenience store in The Plains gave me a garbage bag that I converted into a makeshift rain vest. Worked like a charm. The Mule and I endured cool rain for two hours and were rewarded by two hours of weather bliss and a tailwind for the last half of the 45-mile jaunt.

September 8: I mowed the lawn and dug up a tree stump in the morning, expecting to take the day off from riding, but Beth at Bikes at Vienna contacted me to say that The Tank was ready for pick up from its annual maintenance at the B@V bike spa. I took the bike out for a test ride to check out its new smaller chainring and wider cassette, giving me, according to Beth, a low gear that was more than 16 percent lower than before. (From 40 inches to 27 inches for you gear heads.) The test ride on the Washington and Old Dominion trail ended up being a 30-miler, with the second half being wind aided. The lower gears will definitely be a real help to my back and knees.