For a variety of reasons, I found Saturday’s 62-mile bike ride to be frustrating and exhausting. To make matters worse, I didn’t even bother to take pictures of the beautiful scenery I was riding through.
Today’s ride was better. I left home in shorts into a 43-degree headwind, headed for Rock Creek Park in DC for some good old fashioned leaf peeping. The first ten miles were a chilly slog; I was underdressed and the headwind felt like a relentless uphill grind.
After 10 miles, roughly at National Airport, I found a rhythm. Five more miles cruising along the river brought me to the mouth of the wooded urban canyon known as Rock Creek Park.
I was happy to find that the walls of the canyon blocked the headwind making for much easier pedaling. For a few miles I rode the paved trail without a care until I arrived at the National Zoo. The trail continues along the edge of the Zoo compound, but the Smithsonian which owns the Zoo had closed off the trail because of the government shutdown. The trail which doesn’t actually go into the Zoo itself could just as easily been left open but whadareyagonnado?
Riding north in the southern part of Rock Creek Park
No trail for you!
Rock Creek and all those leaves
I duck-walked my bike on the narrow side path through the adjacent tunnel along Beach Drive, the road along the Creek. Once back in the open air, the rest of the ride was mighty sweet. The grade of the road probably averages about one percent as it winds its way along the creek. With very little traffic of any sort, the riding was peaceful and mediative. I stopped to have a snack and take pictures.
Beach Drive going over Rock Creek
The grade is not nearly as steep as the picture shows. Easy riding.
At about 25 miles, I began the climb out of the Park and rode west a couple of miles to Bethesda where I picked up the Capital Crescent Trail for the return trip. As I started out I passed two dog walkers who had between them about a dozen dogs on leashes. The dogs seemed perfectly calm as they ambled en masse down the trail.
On the Capital Crescent Trail
The riding was easy and breezy thanks to the tailwind and the gentle down grade all the way to the Potomac at the Georgetown waterfront. As the day wore on, the cloud cover was building. I wasn’t dressed for rain so I got down to business and rode without delay.
In Old Town Alexandria I encountered some mist. Is that rain? Nope, just river water churned up by my friendly tailwind.
The tailwind made the last few miles a piece of cake. I arrived home feeling much better than at any time during Saturday’s ride. Riding when your 70 is something of a crap shoot, I suppose, but just think how the Mule feels having broken the 81,000-mile mark somewhere in Alexandria today. The Mule didn’t complain once. The Mule abides.
Yesterday I rode the Great Pumpkin Ride in Fauquier County, Virginia. I have a closet full of the shirts they give out to attendees so I am pretty sure I’ve ridden this event more than a dozen times. The long-sleeved, lightweight shirts are made of technical fabric; they are excellent base layers for cold winter rides.
On Friday night, I stayed up to watch Game 2 of the World Series. I woke up before my alarm at about 4:45. Nothing like riding a 62-mile event when sleep deprived, I always say. After persuading Big Nellie onto my bike rack in the dark, I drove an hour to Warrenton and checked in a little after 7:30. The temperature was a toasty 33 degrees. Ugh.
While waiting around I found myself in conversation with another rider with an interesting English accent. He told me when he came to this country many years ago he worked as a jockey. He raced at east coast venues like Saratoga. After his riding days were over he became a horse dentist. Open wide! He goes from place to place filing down the irregularities on horses’ teeth which allows them to chew their hay better. Who knew? He loves his work. To each his own I suppose.
At 9 we set off, a mass start on a narrow rail trail. I waited a bit to avoid the insanity so I waited for most of the field to get underway. Being a slowpoke and the only recumbent in the field I took care to avoid the impatient lycra-clad roadies who were desperate to set a record on the ride. (I am pretty sure these are the same people who stand as soon as the plane reaches the gate.) Ugh again. In prior years I’ve seen these same folks crash along the course. No two-wheeled karma this year though. I suppose there is hope for the future.
In the past the course took a counter-clockwise route but this year it was reversed. The familiar seems novel when seen from a different perspective. Mostly we rode through farmland, post-harvest and pre-peak foliage. The pallet was dominated by brown leaves and fields of dirt offset by sunny blue skies. (Sorry no pictures. I was busy suffering.)
The first eight miles headed more or less downhill and east into the rising sun. Visibility was difficult. I was cruising down one hill at about 25 miles per hour when out of the sunlight I saw a road rider coming my way. WTF! He must have dropped something but he was unaware that he was backlit and nearly invisible.
The next eight miles were rolling hills through farmland. I noticed that my pedals felt funny on the uphills. Onward. I came to the first rest stop (normally one of the last) at 16.5 miles. I was expecting in a few miles later but grateful as I had a need for a blue room visit. With temperatures soaring into the mid 40s (thankfully it wasn’t windy) I changed into shorts and a vest then joined the long line for relief. The wait was about 15 minutes. Not wanting another 15 minute wait for food, I grabbed a quarter bagel from the crowded food table and set out into a more wooded section of the course.
As I negotiated each hill, that funny feeling in my pedals returned. On hills I use my granny gear, with the chain on the smallest chainring in front. The low gear creates some slack in the chain. The slack is taken up by an idler roughly under my seat.
The ride progressed uneventfully. I managed to avoid two wrong turns along the way. The terrain was rolling. With each climb that funny feeling while pedaling returned. Is my pedal or crank arm coming loose? The more I rode, the worse the feeling became. It became clear that the problem was emanating from the rear of the bike. Was my cassette (the cluster of gears in the back) coming apart? Oddly, the chain wasn’t skipping across the cogs; it was completely disengaging.
The problem worsened. I stopped using my granny gear, opting for my middle chain ring for climbing. After a few miles, the chain problem began to happen in that chainring as well. I’d been riding bikes with gears for over 50 years but nothing like this had ever happened before.
After the rolling wooded area, the course flattened out a bit. An small oncoming SAG (Support and Gear) car came by. The driver could see that I was distressed and asked if I needed help. I waved him off but he did a u-turn and pulled over to make sure I was okay. We agreed that I would continue on to a rest stop in the town of Remington where a bigger SAG vehicle could give me a ride to the finish.
As I continued to ride, I though that maybe the problem was with the rear wheel itself. I made it to a half mile before the rest stop when the back of my bike went totally wonky on the short rise to a railroad crossing. I pulled over and inspected the rear end of the bike. I picked up the back of the bike and the rear wheel dropped off! Somehow the quick release on the wheel had become disengaged. The chain had been keeping the wheel from falling off while I was riding. Dang.
Doing roadside repairs on a long wheel base recumbent is difficult. I managed to get the chain entangled with the right brake pad and to knock the left brake pad cassette out of its holder. I wrestled with the chain, then after a couple of attempts, during which I wrenched my lower back, I seated the rear axle into the frame. Finally, I coaxed the left brake pad back into its proper orientation. I lifted the wheel and gave it a spin. Bob’s your uncle.
Crossing the tracks, I immediately took a wrong turn, adding a half mile to my ride. Eventually, I found the pit stop where the SAG drivers were breaking down the food tables. (No soup for you!) They had heard about the recumbent rider in distress and were ready to help me out. No need, gentlemen. I thanked them and headed out for the next six or seven miles along the rail line, blissfully devoid of hills.
Since we rode downhill out of Warrenton at the start, it was only fair that we’d ride uphill to the finish. I felt very sluggish as I rode. At one point I stopped to see if my rear wheel was properly aligned. No problem. Right as rain. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to ride 62 miles on a quarter bagel and a Clif bar. Ya think?
On the way home I dropped off Big Nellie for some TLC at Bikes at Vienna. Take care of my baby, Tim.
As for riding, I’ll do better next Saturday when The Mule and I take on the Washington Area Bicyclists Association’s 60-mile Cider Ride. Stay tuned and check those quick release levers, y’all.
Big Nellie near the starting line (at the caboose in the background).
My wife came home with apple cider donuts. They came in a pack of 8. These are not good for you. I ate 3. I am weak.
I have had a recurring credit card mystery this year. In July I was charged $51 by a company called Spiz. They sell a “meal replacement” powder. They do not sell an apple cider donut replacement powder. Lame! I have never heard of Spiz so I contacted my credit card provider and filed a fraud claim. I received a new card and thought all was copacetic until I received another $51 charge for Spiz meal replacement powder in September. I contacted my credit card provider and filed another fraud claim.
I got to thinking: have I twice ordered anything online that costs $51? The only thing I could think of was my Knee Saver pedal extenders. They cost $45. It turns out they charge $6 for shipping. Bingo. I searched the Kneesaver.net website and clicked on “About” in the menu. Near the bottom of a long page of company history I found that the Knee Saver is a side gig of the Spiz meal replacement powder company. Mystery solved. I called the credit card company and canceled my fraud claims.
I can’t speak for the quality of the powder but I think the pedal extenders are great. Just add water. (I’m kidding.)
The riding weather has been splendid for a few weeks but I haven’t gone for a long ride. Sad face. This year I gave up mowing my own lawn. Last week the lawn service aerated my lawn then spread an astonishing amount of grass seed over the whole thing. I have to water it twice a day. Once at breakfast time and once in the early afternoon. This cramps my riding style to say the least.
The bike computer on Big Nellie quit working last week. I replaced the battery and all is well. It turns out that the tire manufacturer says the wheel size in millimeters is 1540 (the call numbers for a rock and roll radio station of my youth. I inputted this number and, using 10 miles worth of mileage markers on the Mount Vernon Trail, I determined that it was 4 percent too big. Annoying. My tires are made in Germany. No fahrvergnugen for me.
A few days later the same model bike computer on The Mule went dark. I replaced the battery and it woke up. I rode 30 miles, and all was well. The next day I rode to DC. The computer stopped receiving a signal from the magnet on the front wheel. Riding for an hour with a big 0 miles per hour on your bike computer is depressing. I may have to replace the computer.
A few days ago I rode past an man walking his German shepherd. Both of them were old and flabby. I said “nice dog” as I rode by. The man didn’t hear me. Neither did his dog. When the dog saw me he lunged at me and growled. The man said “You should give a warning.” I told him controlling the dog was his job not mine. He told me to “Eff off”. Except he didn’t say “eff”.
Today, I came to a T intersection an half mile from home. It’s a three-way stop. I looked left and right then proceeded to make a left turn. Just as I did I heard an engine roar and a tire squeal. A pickup truck screeched to a halt to my right. He didn’t see or car about his stop sign. I stopped before crossing in front of him. I gave him a WTF look. I started up again and he passed me on the left. He said something that sounded aggressive to me. I yelled “Slow the eff down!” Except I didn’t say “eff”. Effs are contagious.
My early morning rides to Friday Coffee Club now begin in the dark. Last week I even had to wear long pants. Dang. The best thing about these rides is the sunrise over the Potomac.
It seems a shame that we sleep through this most days
Another month of spinning my wheels has hit the books.
Riding
The month began with a bang as I rode 67 miles on Big Nellie to reach 54,000 miles. My riding comfort and efficiency was greatly increased by the use of pedal extenders married to big Catalyst platform pedals. I bought new pedal extenders and platform pedals for The Mule. The Mule and I rode my 17th 50 States Ride with a posse of veteran 50 Staters. It was nice to have Timothee and Domitille back in the fold. Too bad Domitille and I had to do the ride without our granny gears. We survived.
I rode to Friday Coffee Club each week and watched the sunrise creep toward 7 pm.
After the 50 States Ride I fiddled with the saddle position on The Mule to get the most out of my new pedal set up. After a couple of tries I hit the sweet spot.
I need The Mule for one more event ride, The WABA Cider Ride in early November. Its chain is pretty much toast after a season of riding so I switched back to Big Nellie at the end of the month. My plan is to do the Great Pumpkin Ride in late October on the ‘bent.
For the month I clocked in at 864 miles. My year-to-date mileage is 7,790. I’m 311 miles ahead of schedule to reach 10,000 miles, for 8th consecutive year.
Reading
The Man Who Died Seven Times by Yasuhiko Nishisawa. As in any Agatha Christie novel, a murder occurs amid a large gathering of people. The protagonist re-lives the day of the murder, stuck in a time loop like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day. Who done it? Can the protagonist use the time loop to undo it? A fun romp reminiscent of The Seven Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle. For me it was a pleasant turn of the page so to speak from a month of Mark Twain. Birthday book #1.
You Dreamed of Empires by Alvaro Enrigue. A bizarre re-imagining of the day Hernando Cortes entered the Aztec capital complex of Montezuma. This one’s got it all: hallucinogens (mushrooms, cactus, tomatoes), ritual human sacrifices, murders, beheadings and dismemberments, cannibalism, rape and sodomy, and palace intrigue out the wazoo. Birthday book #2.
The Sweet Forever by George Pelicanos. My fifth or sixth Pelcanos book of the year. This one is set in DC during March 1986. Len Bias is blazing through March Madness on his way to being selected 2nd in the NBA draft. Mayor Marion Barry is coking and whoring all over town as his city government becomes overwhelmed with graft. And the pre-crack cocaine trade on U Street NW is disrupted by a stolen pillow case filled with drug money. The lives of two corrupt cops, an honest record store owner, and a drug kingpin become intertwined. Depressing as hell but the best Pelicanos book that I have read so far.
Watching
Thunderbolts – The latest dud from Marvel. Really made me long for Robert Downey, Junior in a cave.
Elbow at Club 9:30. This is at least the third time we’ve seen this band at the 9:30. They were a bit jet lagged but put on a great show as usual. My unfamiliarity with their last two albums meant that the first half of the show dragged a bit but they finished strong and had the crowd singing in harmony to their last few numbers.
Elvis Costello and the Imposters at the Warner Theater. I don’t own a single record of Costello’s but he’s as good as it gets at making rootsy rock and roll. The audience looked like it was bussed in from retirement homes. So much gray hair. The concert itself was meh. Oddly the best song was the last and not one of Costello’s: Slow Down by Larry Williams.
The Washington Nationals. I attended a few more games. Long story short, they stunk. It was fun to watch the emergence of Daylen Lyle as a budding superstar though. The highlight of the season and the last game was the spontaneous farewell the fans gave the White Sox Michael A. Taylor, a former National and 2019 World Series hero who retired.
The event is the 50 States Ride, the Washington Area Bicyclists Association annual trek on the streets of DC. The route rambles all over the city so that participants ride on each of the streets named for a US state (plus Columbia Road for those who want statehood for DC).
The distance is normally about 60 miles. Each year WABA tweaks the route. This year’s version clocked in at 58.4 miles. Nobody complained. Did I mention that the route is notoriously hilly? Well, now I did. And now that I think about it, you should know that the streets are open to car traffic. Hats off to all those DC drivers who waited patiently for us.
According to WABA’s Jordan Mittleman, the route included some 200 turns. The cue sheet, for those of us old timers who hate digital maps, is 22 pages long. I kid you not.
Since I turned 70 this year, I was expecting to be challenged. Indeed I was. I found out when we hit 18th Street Northeast at about 2 1/2 miles into the day that my granny (climbing) gears were not working. Yeah well. Suck it up, gramps.
Weather conditions were as good as it gets. Overcast skies, light breezes, temperatures in the 70s. It was a bit humid but I wasn’t complaining one bit.
So here is the tale of my 17th 50 States Ride.
The Posse
Each year I ride with a group of friends. For the first time that I can recall this year’s posse contained no rookies. Michael, Chris, Kevin, and I are the most experienced. Next come Sara, Neena, Domitille, and Domitille’s husband Timotheé. (Michael has a painful bone bruise in his knee; he would depart the route at about 15 miles, but met us at the finish with pizza in hand.) Lastly, we were joined for the first eight miles by Jon who had to speed ahead after the first pit stop at the eight-mile mark to make a soccer daddy pickup in the afternoon.
Gear Woes
Weirdly, Domitille had the same granny gear problem that I did. Sad face. Sara had an issue with her front derailleur as well but cleverly found a bike shop near the first pit stop and had it repaired.
The Ride Itself
We began near Metrobar in Eckington in Northeast DC, close to the center of the city. To avoid congestion and other problems, we left just before WABA released the first of many groups led by ride marshals.
The first eight miles took us through northeast DC, west of the Anacostia River. We encountered only a couple of hills along the way and, thanks to route changes, we spent all but 200 yards on Michigan and South Dakota Avenues, two notorious car sewers. Heading south we passed Gallaudet University and, shortly thereafter, the ghost bike of our departed friend Dave Salovesh on Florida Avenue.
The route started a spiral through Capitol Hill, the Navy Yard, and Hill East neighborhoods. In five miles we bagged seven states.
Have celery, will ride
As we rode through Hill East and over the river to Anacostia, we began to encounter a problem. The marshal-led groups began to swallow our group up, causing delays at stop lights and, worse, numerous near crashes. We made a nearly three-mile climb up to Alabama Avenue Southeast. We rode on level ground for three miles in an annoying cluster of apparently novice riders mixed with cars and Metrobuses.
As per tradition, I made a wrong turn onto 18th Place Southwest, but corrected myself before trailing riders followed me. We turned down 18th Street Southwest and hit the long mile of Mississippi Avenue with its humongous speed bumps. We then turned straight back up for 3/10s of a mile back to Alabama. Mississippi was so no worth it. On the bright side we were about to begin 16 miles of nearly level terrain.
Another couple of miles mostly on Martin Luther King Junior Boulevard took us downhill to the 11th Street Bridge where Neena has stopped to direct us onto the ramp to the bridge. Thanks, Neena.
Here’s where the congestion really began to cause problems. We now had at least two marshalled groups and our posse all trying to ride on narrow cycletracks. To make matters worse, the marshals stopped to figure out the route. Ugh.
On the Virginia Avenue cycletrack the rides all queued up for nearly a block at a red light. Not gonna work folks. I jumped on an empty adjacent brick sidewalk and rode past the group. The light turned green but the marshal in the lead was not paying attention. No wonder we were clustering up. Only when I rode past him did he wake up. We came to a crosswalk with some pedestrians in it. I slowed and signaled for trailing riders to stop. After we were underway again, the ADD marshal pulled up along side me and told me in a patronizing tone of voice how I did a good thing. Thank you, Mister Wonderful.
After another pit stop we began another spiral in the southern part of Northwest DC. For sanity’s sake, I left the pit stop ahead of the marshal groups. I Street Northwest has a cycletrack with synchronized traffic lights. I sped up to 14 miles per hour and ran the deck. (My friend Brian would call this “a perfect”.) After passing the District Wharf I rode up the hill toward L’Enfant Plaza where I saw two middle aged tourists on rental e-bikes. Rather than use the protected bike lane the first tourist used a curb cut to ride onto the sidewalk. The trailing tourist did the same but hit a low concrete barrier and took a tumble. A pedestrian ran to her aid. The rider landed in some soft-looking grass so I am sure she will be fine after a couple of beverages.
I rode the Case Bridge over the Washington Channel into East Potomac Park to loop back onto Ohio Drive Southeast. As I did I passed back under the bridge to see the parade of marshal-led riders overhead. Soon I found myself riding on Independence Avenue in a big gap between marshalled riders. Nice.
Our route took us around the Capitol and over near Union Station. The posse had caught up to me here. The next few miles involved a short ride on a sidewalk to Delaware Avenue and a yards-long turn on and off Louisiana Avenue. (We actually missed this one a couple of years ago.)
We took D Street into the core of downtown and made our way to our third pit stop. Domitille and I hoofed it three blocks to a restroom. I’d never have found it without her. South one block. East two blocks. South one block. Down a glass elevator! Maybe WABA should have a 50 bathroom hike.
After the pit stop we played Pac-Man, wending through downtown, Adams Morgan, and Kalorama picking up eight states land Columbia Road. This was a bit traffic-y but we were no longer riding with the marshalled groups.
At E Street Northwest we crossed over Rock Creek Park into Georgetown. It was time to get serious.
We rode the rollers on Reservoir Avenue past Georgetown University Hospital and the French and German Embassies. After a one-mile respite on MacArthur Boulevard we turned to climb the dreaded Palisades hill. We climbed for about a mile. Some of the grades were around 12 percent. I stopped once to catch my breath and let my granny-deprived legs cool down. But I rode the whole damned thing.
Domitille had to walk some of the hill but Timotheé, rode back down the hill to escort her. Awww.
The climb was followed by a short descent to another half mile uphill stretch to Cathedral Heights. Fortunately we had only a mile to go before our next pit stop at a Wegman’s in the City Ridge development.
After about a 20 minute rest, we forged ahead around Fort Reno and through Chevy Chase, DC, picking up five more states in four miles. Oregon Avenue took us down into Rock Creek Park. Shady. Car free. Yay. Short-lived. Boo. We climbed a mile out of the park, topping out at Alaska Avenue, fittingly the northern most state street on the route. This was the last big climb of the day. Double yay. As we turned off of Alaska Avenue we were captured in all our sweaty splendor by the camera of Patti Heck. Each year, rain or shine, Patti takes pictures of the riders here. Over 500 pictures this year alone.
We crossed into Tacoma for our final pit stop at the home of Mike and Lisa and their cats (so many cats). Such nice people. With eight miles to go, we could smell the finish. After scarfing some snacks, we set off down to Petworth for five more states in three miles. Sara and I lost contact with the rest of the posse but picked up Cathy and a young guy who’s name I didn’t get. Nice people, We rolled over to and down Hawaii, our 50th state! (Well played, WABA.)
We continued down to Catholic University. At one point the route cuts through the campus but Cathy convinced us that simply riding the adjacent Metropolitan Branch Trail straight to the finish made more sense. We finished at 4 p. m., about eight hours after we started.
At the finish, we picked up our t-shirts and re-joined the posse for post-ride drinks and food. I was feeling every one of my 70 years.
The Posse: (L to R) Kevin, Sara, Neena, Michael, Domitille, Chris, Me, and Timotheé
Congrats to the posse. Well done, especially Sara, Domitille, and Timotheé who did the ride on next to no training.
As for me, despite all the miles I ride, I was a hurting unit. 50 > 70 it seems. I should have eaten the celery.
Thanks
Thanks to the crew at WABA that put this whole thing together. This year’s course tweaks made for an interesting ride. Also, I am thankful that this year there was more than enough water and snacks at the pit stops. And there were plenty of t-shirts for late arriving riders at the finish line.
WABA people with volunteers at the start
Also, thanks to the volunteers at the pit stops, especially Mike and Lisa.
Labor Day: I had planned on riding Big Nellie to the baseball game on Labor Day but I went on the day before and witnessed the Nationals’ ninth consecutive loss. Being the baseball addict that I am, I went twice more. Hey, the ballpark is 15 miles from home. During my most recent game I looked up and saw two friends, Lucy and Steve, on the big screen beyond center field. Lucy was selected to play a game: guess which National will hit a home run and win $500 in Nats Bucks (money you can spend at the ballpark). Alas, no Nat hit a homer. Sad trombone.
No dingers for you!
Big Nellie’s 54th: On September 1 the weather was ideal. The riding objective was 67 miles. This would bring Big Nellie’s odometer to 54,000 miles. I began with a ride to the local rec center to lift some weights. The rec center is a little over three miles from my house, but I stretched it to 15. The next 42 miles took me into DC where I saw DC things. First. I passed a large crowd boisterously protesting the Trump takeover of Union Station (as a Secret Service helicopter circled overhear). Next I encountered a new extension of the cycletrack on First Street, NE. It took me north through the infamous car sewer known locally as Dave Thomas Circle. (Before its recent redesign it had a Wendy’s burger joint in the middle of the intersection. Thomas was the CEO of Wendy’s.) A few miles later I came upon the new extension of the Metropolitan Branch Trail. Sadly it ends after only a quarter mile at another car sewer called Riggs Road.
50 States: A secondary purpose of the September 1 ride was to check out the on-street parking situation for this Saturday’s 50 States Ride. There is beaucoup on-street, all-day, free parking. As for the ride, the posse is now: Chris, Kevin, Neena, Sara, Domitille, Timothee, and me. Michael is also riding but, because of an injury to his knee, he expects to ride only a portion of the event. I’m sure we’ll add a few more victims on Saturday.
Pedalling Made Easier: I put pedal extenders on Big Nellie along with my fancy pants Catalyst platform pedals. The extenders move the pedals about an inch further away from the frame. This slight modification has made quite a difference in terms of comfort and efficiency. Back in 2019 I suffered through 3,000 miles on a sore left knee and left hip. Knowing what I know now, I may have ridden without pain had I used pedal extenders. I ordered a new set of both the extenders and the Catatlyst pedals for The Mule. The Mule abides.
Rocket Man: I plan on doing 50 States on The Mule. Everyone else I am riding with is using a conventional, non-recumbent bike so riding The Mule means I won’t get dropped (as badly) on climbs or zoom way ahead on downhills as I would on Big Nellie. During a day ride in Alexandria The Mule and I stopped for a snack. I checked my phone and stumbled on the fact that I was about three miles from the grave of a famous man, Werhner von Braun. He was the father of the program that designed Nazi Germany’s V1 and V2 rockets. At the end of the war, he and his rocketry team (and other German scientists) were brought to a top secret interviewing facility at Fort Hunt Park. The program was known as Operation Paperclip. After the war, he and his team were secretly moved to Huntsville, Alabama to begin work on US missiles and, eventually, the NASA space program. Ultimately, they designed the Apollo Saturn V rocket.
Double Stab: Not wanting to go through another year of worry about Covid, I arranged to get a booster shot at a local drug store after the state of Virginia declared that prescriptions were not necessary for high risk (old, asthmatic) people. I also got a flu shot. Take that Bobby.
Crash #3: This has been my year for bike crashes. In the Spring, I managed to crash my bike in the C&O Canal. Instead of taking a side path through the woods to get to the towpath, I decided to ride into and up out of the canal at Riley’s Lock where the canal is dry. I did fine until I made it only part way up to the towpath and toppled over. (My friend Leslie did the same thing a few months later.) During my road test of the Streetmachine recumbent bike this summer, I toppled over and messed up my upper right arm and shoulder. My arm aches from time to time, especially when I am trying to sleep. With stretching, weight lifting, and medications, I almost had it back to normal when I crashed a third time. I was riding up a slight rise in the road near my house. I was tired and had my head down. Where the road widened I looked up and there, not two feet in front of me, was a parked car. I hit it with a glancing blow and fell on my left side. The deceleration force, however, was enough to re-injure my right arm. Argh.
Sunrise: It’s that time of year again when the sun is coming up over the river at Dyke Marsh on the Mount Vernon Trail just as I am riding to Friday Coffee Club. The sight makes up for riding the first three miles in the twilight.
I turned 70 this month. Suddenly, I can say that I am feeling my age. Still I carry on with my amusements.
Riding
As in July I devoted my riding, but for riding Little Nellie to and from the car mechanic, to Big Nellie. I rode 968 miles on the latter and 3 miles on the former for a total of 971 miles for the month. My long ride was a one-way, wind-aided, 57-mile jaunt from Purcellville, Virginia to home. All but 2 1/2 miles were on trails. The sky was blue and the clouds were cotton balls. Temperatures stayed in the mid-70s with low humidity. What more can a rider ask for?
Big Nellie has taken momentarily the annual mileage lead from The Mule: 3,901 miles to 2,478 miles. I’ll be switching over the to The Mule in early September as I prepare my aged carcass for the hillfest known as the 50 States Ride. My total mileage for the year stands at 6,926.
Reading
I managed one book this month. Mark Twain by Ron Chernow. Brilliantly crafted, this biography runs to over 1,000 pages, containing everything you every thought you could possibly want to know about America’s first celebrity. Twain was a brilliant author and lecturer and an absolutely terrible businessman. He was a champion of women’s rights and a creepy old man who platonically groomed young girls. He was a supportive business partner who could become vicious and vindictive when ventures soured (as they very often did). Last year, we toured the Mark Twain house in Hartford. If you’re ever in the area, check it out. Mark Twain is on a par with the two other Chernow biographies I have read, Alexander Hamilton and Grant.
Watching
Mostly, when I wasn’t dealing with Mr. Twain, I watched baseball. After an absolutely wretched week of perhaps the worst baseball played in my lifetime, the Washington Nationals teased me with some very promising young talent. A Bluesky account has been posting, two per day, of all the players who have worn a Nationals uniform in the team’s 20-year history. It’s amazing how many players initially showed promise only to wash out. I fear that the same fate will befall many of the emerging “stars” on this year’s team. Alas, the team finished August on an 8-game losing streak.
I went to a few games. On the last day of the month I went to a day game. In the late innings, a marriage proposal was posted on the big screen in center field. This was followed by a picture of the couple. They were sitting two rows in front of me.
She said “Yes.”
The Thursday Murder Club, a new Netflix movie, featured an all-star cast – Helen Mirren, Pierce Brosnan, Ben Kingsley, Jonathan Pryce, Richard E. Grant, and David Tennant – but seemed rushed and missed the spirit of Richard Osman’s mystery novel. As the Washington Post review noted, Naomi Ackie and Celia Imrie outshined the big stars. I also agree with the WaPo review that this would have been much better as a mini-series. At least there are three more TMC books to go. (Osman’s fifth Thursday Murder Club novel comes out at the end of September.)
Medical
My PSA tests looked worrisome for a while, but my urologist thinks that it is highly unlikely that I have prostate cancer. I go back to him early next year for more anxiety.
For the first two weeks of the month, I grew increasingly worried that my right shoulder would need surgery. I took a fall a few months back during a test ride of a recumbent bike and landed flush on my upper right arm. Recently, I began to lift weights very carefully in the hopes of building strength and increasing the range of motion in that arm. It seems to be working. About two weeks ago while showering I felt pain as I was cleaning the left side of my body with my right arm. I gently grabbed my right elbow and pulled the forearm across my chest. I felt a stretching in my right shoulder. When I released my arm. there was no pain. This simple stretch seems to be working wonders. I have stopped taking pain medications and, for a several days, slept through the night. Next I will see how my arm takes to riding a conventional bike.
My odometer clicked a mighty big number this week as I turned 70 years of age, emphasis on “age”. How the hell did this happen, anyway?
Just for kicks I thought I’d look back at a selection of things I did during my 60s.
Work
Work is a four-letter word. I retired on my 62nd birthday. My first act as a free man was to purchase a seniors pass to the US National Parks.
Reading
I discovered several new authors and re-acquainted myself with old ones. A partial list includes Amor Towles, Fredrik Backman, Barbara Kingsolver, David McCullough, Eric Larson, John Green, David Grann, Michael Lewis, Bill Bryson, Richard Osman, David Goodrich, Ron Chernow, Sue Monk Kidd, Percival Everett,and Neil King.
The Arts
I am not a big concert goer. My favorite performances were by Elbow and Le Vent du Nord. I saw them both a couple of times. Similarly, plays don’t much float my boat but Patrick Page as King Lear at the Shakespeare Theater in DC was phenomenal. And when the time came, I didn’t throw away my shot to see Hamilton at the Kennedy Center. Superb.
Sports
I was at the last Washington Nationals game of the year in 2016 when they lost to the Dodgers in the playoffs. With the final out, the home crowd went from sounding like a jet engine to total silence. It was if someone threw a switch. So strange. Three years later they reached the mountain top and won the World Series against a cheating Houston Astros team. After that they began their “rebuild” which continues to this day. Well, at least I can ride my bike to the games.
Travel
With my wife as travel agent and my daughter as tour guide, I went overseas three times. First, we visited Australia, New Zealand, and Thailand. In Thailand we met up with our son who lives on Phuket. Next was Sweden, Norway, Denmark, and Iceland. We finished with a fab tour of England.
Bike Riding
I did pretty darn good in the bicycling department. For my last year and a half as a worker bee, I commuted by bike to the office full time, year round. It turns out that bike commuting 30 miles per day is pretty good prep for touring.
All told, I rode a bit over 103,000 miles since I turned 60. My peak year was 2018 when I hit 11,807 miles, thanks largely to my coast-to-coast tour. I rode over 41,000 miles on The Mule, my trusty old Specialized Sequoia.
A few years ago I became a lifetime member of the Adventure Cycling Association.
Bike Tours
I rode eight bike tours, all of them on The Mule. Easily, the highlight was my self-supported solo ride across the United States in 2018 at the age of 62. Focusing on one day at a time, I pedaled 70+ miles each day through 15 states. Before I knew it, I was smelling the salty air of the Pacific. Mind blown. In two months, I rode 4,300 miles from home to Portland, Oregon. Dang. A totally unexpected post-ride sense of afterglow lingered for weeks.
My eight tours took me through 32 states, bringing my total to 40. Alas, I think the two years lost to the pandemic (and my fear of dogs) will keep me from bagging all 50.
Of course, I didn’t ride these tours without loads of help from family, friends, Warmshowers hosts, and trail angels.
Bike Events
I rode the big three local events, the 50 States and Cider Rides in DC and the Great Pumpkin Ride in Warrenton, Virginia nearly every year. My efforts were interrupted only by the pandemic and the trip to Australia. I also rode the Backroads Century and Vasa ride (now defunct), assorted charity rides in Northern Virginia, Montgomery County, Maryland and in Baltimore as well as the Seagull Century on Maryland’s Eastern Shore.
Hiking
On my 60th birthday I managed to climb Old Rag in Shenandoah National Park. I did a few other hikes in the park, along the Appalachian Trail, in Great Falls Park, and in Prince William Forest Park before succumbing to lumbar spinal stenosis.
The Medical Merri-Go-Round
When you get old, you need to take care of your body. Things break.
At the end of 2017, I developed pulmonary embolisms from a deep vein thrombosis in my left calf. It was unfun and downright scary, especially when my right lung collapsed. I was hospitalized for three days. The recovery was gradual and by late April my hematologist gave me the green light to ride across the country.
My back succumbed gradually to lumbar spinal stenosis. After multiple cortisone shots, failed to offer relief, I began a daily routine of physical therapy. It has not been very helpful. I use a cane when I walk long distances.
Chronic left hip and knee pain during my 2019 tour from Indiana to San Francisco were resolved temporarily by edibles in Colorado. Back home, a doctor gave me some cortisone shots that set me right.
I endured a painful twelve-month recovery from whiplash after being rear ended on my recumbent by a dude in an SUV.
I had carpal tunnel surgery on my right hand this year. It seems to have done the trick.
I fell over on a recumbent I was test riding and managed to screw up my upper right arm. I had hopes the pain would go away after a while but it looks like I’ll be headed to the orthopedist this winter.
I had three colonscopies. If you get one, I’ll buy you some Ex-Lax. My cancer fun continued with four blood tests and an MRI for prostate cancer. Fortunately, I remain cancer free. Knock wood.
I continued on a routine of weight lifting until the pandemic hit. Last month, when my local fitness center re-opened after an impressive renovation, I started lifting again. It helps my old body cope.
Goodbyes
Jim Burgess, known to me and many others as Chet, died of colon cancer in 2017. He was a roommate of mine in grad school, Chet had an infectious laugh and an encyclopedic knowledge of rock and new wave music. He was the master of the mix tape.
Christian Maimone died from a heart attack in 2019. I helped him finish his first event ride, the very first Cider Ride. A couple of years later we did the Seagull Century together. He kicked my ass. He was a charming man, a devout Catholic, and a devoted husband and father.
Dave Salovesh was killed by an out-of-control driver on Good Friday in 2019. His death devastated the DC bicycling community. And me. He was a stellar human being. No words.
As I advanced through my sixties, I learned that I have mastered a new skill: napping. In the decades ahead (who says I’m a pessimist), I intend to raise my napping competence to new levels until I take that last great big nap on the couch. In the meantime, I’ll take each mile one at a time with the rubber side down.
It’s been another scorcher of a month here in the mid-Atlantic. The heat index has been near or above 100 F’n degrees on several days. Storms roll through nearly every night giving us a good show and occasionally knocking down a tree here or there. Thankfully, August is forecasted to begin with pleasant weather. Ahhh.
A storm victim on the trail near Mount Vernon
Riding
I logged 744 miles, all of it on Big Nellie my Tour Easy recumbent. I took nine days off, two for a family reunion, a couple more for rest and to avoid nasty weather, and the rest in preparation for a blood test. Near the end of the month I put Knee Savers on the bike. These little chunks of machined metal move the pedals away from the crank arms by 20 millimeters. They seemed to work okay so I tried them with my Catalyst pedals. The combination worked quite well. After a couple of days I felt like my old bent self on the bike. As these things go, 744 miles for a summer month isn’t exactly setting the world on fire, but it isn’t half bad considering all the time I took off.
Knee saver pedal extender
For the year I’ve logged 5,955 miles, on pace for 10,253 miles for the year.
I registered for September’s 50 States Ride in DC. It will be my 17th. If you live in DC and have never done it, you should. As President Kennedy said, “We do these things not because they are easy but because they are hard.”
Reading
My Friends by Fredrik Backman. A splendid novel about teenagers, art, and friendship. On a par with Backman’s Anxious People and A Man Called Ove.
Medical
The medical merri-go-round decided not to take the summer off. After briefly considering physical therapy for my injured right arm, I decided to go it alone. It’s getting better incrementally. Fortunately, my local county fitness center re-opened a few weeks ago. I’ve been working out (carefully) on a set of nine weight machines and I have to say my body is pleased. My arm is still a wreck but it’s a happier one.
Since January, I have been getting monitored for prostate cancer. The level of prostate specific antigen (PSA) in my blood was found to be slightly above the threshold for concern last December. As it turns out, high PSA levels can be caused by cancer but they can also be caused by a number of less serious things such as advancing age, an enlarged prostate, and (I kid you not) bike riding. To eliminate bike riding as a cause for my PSA levels, I took a week off the bike and re-tested. It made no difference. (I think the connection has to do with riding a conventional saddle which can compress the perineum and the body parts above.)
Earlier this year my urologist sent me for an MRI. It found no abnormalities other than the enlargement. My urologist is confident that I’m at very low risk for cancer. Just to be safe we’ll do PSA blood tests every six months. No worries.
The only disturbing thing about this whole prostate cancer business is the fact that old men (70 years old and up) can often skip treatment altogether for slow growing prostate cancer. The thinking is they’ll die before the cancer gets them. First do no harm; then call the undertaker.
Last night the skies raged. It was another typical storm with beaucoup thunder and lightning. As is usual around here, the storm followed a horribly hot and humid day.
Today was yet another day that I abbreviated HHH – hazy, hot, and humid – in my bicycling log. I took today off from the bike and spent a couple of hours tending to my pathetic garden. It is full of unwanted vines, crabgrass, and weeds.
After 45 minutes I had to stop working. I sat in a plastic lawn chair in the shade, gulping water from one of three bottles I had brought outside either me. My clothes were already soaked with sweat. My heart rate was through the roof.
Fortunately a breeze kicked up and I cooled down. Once my heart rate came down, I returned to my labor. This time I lasted about 30 minutes before returning to my chair.
After reviving I gave the garden one more go before surrendering to Vulcan. Dang.
I hosed myself off so as to not drip sweat and mulch bits all over the house. Preparing for a shower I reached over my head to take off my T-shirt. It was pasted against my skin.
It was a shirt I bought in North Cascades National Park on my 2018 cross country bike trek. I bought it after climbing five mountain passes in four days. It had some small holes in it so when I gave it a yank I Hulked it. The back just shredded. It was still so wet that I had to take it off like a skirt.
Shirt died a hero.
It will live on for a while in my rag bag before succumbing to the trash.
A Few Spokes Shy of a Wheel 