Author: Rootchopper

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.

DSCN2328
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.

Dead Beavers Tell No Lies

I was back in the saddle – er, foam pad – for an early morning departure. I haven’t been to Friday Coffee Club in a long time so I was looking forward to it. It was nice of Mother Nature to give Big Nellie and me a tailwind assist. The miles seemed to fly by. I spotted a garbage bag next to the trail just south of Belle Haven Park. It turned out to be a beaver all balled up. I think he was dead. He certainly wasn’t looking very spunky.

Since I left earlier than usual, most of my regulars weren’t out yet.  So the critters kept me entertained. Near the power plant another critter caught my eye. It was a black snake coiled up in the middle of the trail. I think he’s with the beaver in critter heaven.

Near the airport I cruised by Trash Walker, my first regular of the day. Trash Walker hoofs it along the trail and picks up trash as he goes. And he always waves and says “Hello”.  He didn’t get the memo about crumpy-assed bike commuters like me.

The early morning brings out the Lancelots, the bike riders who have delusions of cycling grandeur. (Digression No. 1: Look people, you’re on a bike trail with hardly any hills. You don’t look badass passing a bike commuter carrying 30 pounds of crap on his recumbent. You are pathetic. Chill.)  I came off the first of two flyover bridges at National Airport at considerable speed. Three cyclists coming toward me decided to pass a walker just as I came upon them. (Digression No. 2: The levers on your handlebars activate your brakes. Don’t pull out into the path of an on-coming bike when you don’t have to. Wait your turn, just as you would when you’re driving your car. Otherwise I will have to use the bicycle death ray on you. You’ve been warned.)

I rode into the city with two other commuters. At the Jefferson Memorial I was overtaken by a vast bicycle commuting conspiracy. This included one of my regulars, the guy with the mountain bike with slick tires and aerobars who looks slow but goes lickety split.

Crossing Maine Avenue, French Braid Girl came past. Normally I see her four miles closer to home, so I had a good idea how early I was. As I passed the Garbage TruckWashington Monument, a bike came from my right and a runner came from my left. Somehow we avoided a calamitous collision. At Constitution Avenue the light was green (which never happens without a long wait) making up for all of life’s early morning injustices. Soon, another injustice appeared in the 15th Street Cycletrack.

At Swings, the weekly meeting of the WAAMCCD (Washingtion Area All Male Cycling Coffee Drinkers) was in session. Fortunately, we were soon joined by Kate Drake, fresh from her vacation in the high Sierras, and her friend Kate. New Kate makes the fifth cycling Kate that I know in DC, and sixth overall. The three Lisas  (all local) need to up their game.

Out of the garage I bolted into the bike lane on Lynn Street, kinda cutting off a cyclist. My bad. I caught all the lights and made for the bike trail. Two cyclists on the sidewalk to my right passed me unexpectedly on my right. No warning. Thanks, guys. (Please see discussion of the bicycle death ray, above.)  Down on the Mount Vernon Trail there were all sorts of walkers milling about. I came to a stop until they finished milling. All the way to the airport the wind was gusting into my face. A bike commuter passed my and said “This sucks!” Dude, try it in February. This is positively lovely. Takes the edge off the heat and humidity.

Once south of the airport the trees gave me relief from the headwind. Big Nellie and I tootled home. We stopped to take a picture of the beaver. He was still dead.

Kate Drake asked me about the bald eagle nests. I put her off coming down to see them. The trees have made them very hard to find.  It’s a shame. I should have put together a bald eagle ride earlier in the spring.

Tomorrow is the Tour de Fat.It’s a big party with bikes, acid rock, live nude girls, and beer.  Oh, and it’s family friendly. I know this because every ten minutes somebody tweets or posts something on Facebook about it. (If you are fat, they let you in for free, I hear.) I was tempted to go for the entire event which lasts something like six hours. I can do six hours of bikes or beer or acid rock or live nude girls. (Okay, I am kidding about the live nude girls. There will be at least 1,200 Kates in attendance so that counts for something.) Owing to my age and marital status, I decided I’d go for one hour. My plan is to ride to the Washington Folk Festival at Glen Echo Park to see my friend Lisa’s Japanese taiko drum group at 2 then ride to the Tour de Fat.  I hope they have some beer left.

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Bollards for Bozos

Bollards for Bozos by Rootchopper
Bollards for Bozos, a photo by Rootchopper on Flickr.

This is the entrance to the Mount Vernon Trail at Northdown Road. A few weeks ago a young woman drove her SUV past the “No Motor Vehicles” sign down the trail. She tried to do a three point turn to reverse course and ended up in a ditch. This happens every year. Finally, somebody (probably the National Park Service) install a white flexpost in the middle of the trail. Oddsmakers at the Rootchopper Institute think that it’s 2-1 for somebody driving over the flexpost and down the trail within the next 12 months. Wanna bet?