Category: bike commute

Welcome Winter

We have had an exceptionally warm winter so far here in the DC area. That ended today. And wouldn’t you know it, today was the first bike commute of the new year.

Nothing says fun like riding into a headwind when it is 28 degrees outside.

And so I did.

After about three miles I was comfortable. I was also protected by trees and short buildings in Old Town Alexandria. After a while my fingertips started feeling cold. And my toes. Then “Hi, John!” It was Linel.

We talked for a while. Or tried to. It’s hard to hold a conversation while riding, with your ears covered, in a headwind.

About that headwind. It got stronger as the tree protection fell away. Linel and I swapped leads. When we came to the exposed area just north of the airport, I took the lead. Oof!

Linel turned off to go across the 14th Street Bridge. I proceeded into the headwind.

Pedal, pedal.

I took the trail bridge across the Parkway. I was about 15 feet up and the headwind was now a cross wind. Whoa! (It turns out that Linel was exposed to this crosswind for about 1/2 mile. Not much fun.)

Damage report. All decks.

I arrived at work with numb toes. The shower I took made them burn.

The ride home was a ride on a tailwind. I didn’t struggle. I just went with the flow. Bikes passed me. Fast. I didn’t care. A tailwind is a terrible thing to waste.

Near the Memorial Bridge, large gaggles (weird word that) of Canada geese were bumbling about on either side of the trail. The trail was covered in geese poo. Lovely. Honk your own self.

It was cold but with the wind at my back I was surprisingly comfortable. And in a good mood. Until I reached Old Town Alexandria.

At the first cross street, a car made a u-turn across the trail as I was riding past. The driver could have continued 100 feet and used the circular turnaround in front of some office buildings. Instead the driver decided to take a chance on running me over. This happens all the time for some reason.

A quarter mile later I was in the bike lane on North Union Street in Old Town. A car was parked perpendicular to the curb completely blocking the bike lane. It was parked at 406 North Union. This is a frequent occurrence. I was cold so I didn’t stop to take a picture or knock on the door. I did note that the license plate was Virginia J 3. This sounds like a well-connected individual. The house is worth well over $1 million. When I got home, I called the Alexandria Police. They took my information and said they’d check it out. In light of the fact that Union Street is patrolled by a parking enforcement person every night, I suspect that the city looks the other way at resident parking scofflaws with deep pockets.  Call me cynical, but I doubt anything will change. Except I will keep complaining to the police, because it’s a bicycle friendly city. It says so on a sign.

The rest of the ride home was uneventful. Cold but uneventful. Tomorrow will be colder still. I will be wearing hiking boots with chemical foot warmers inside. Tights under wind pants. An additional layer up top. A balaclava will complete my stylish look. I hope I can pedal under all the clothing I’ll have on.

Of course, I could drive or work from home.

Except nothing says fun like riding into a headwind when it is 18 degrees outside.

 

Bike Karma : From Calm to Cash

Yesterday I wrote about how a very pleasant calming had come over me, as if my worries had melted away. Today very nearly topped it.

Back in my running days, I frequently found money in the part of the street that cyclists call the door zone. I think what happens is that drivers reach into their pockets for car keys and inadvertently pull money out with the keys. For a starving grad student these bits of serendipity were welcome surprises.

A couple of years ago I found a $20 bill in an ATM. I thought about taking it into the bank but I figured they already had plenty of $20 bills. Over the course of the next several weeks I bought lottery tickets with the money. It was, of course, gone in a short time.

Bike riding does not lend itself to these kinds of lucky finds. Bike riders typically find  large objects like screwdrivers, bungee cords, binkeys from children being pushed by jogging moms, and stray pieces of clothing. (I once found a bra on the Mount Vernon Trail. If only it could talk….)

Today, in the middle of the street in front of my house, I found a $20 bill folded neatly in half. Wow! My lucky day. I looked around for someone looking for lost lucre and saw no one. So I put the bill in my handlebar bag and rolled on.

Fifty feet later I found another $20 bill, also folded in half.

You: You must be joking.

Me: I am not

I repeated my look-around and plopped the second bill into my handlebar bag.

Thinking maybe there was a line of $20 bills down the street away from my line of travel, I reversed course and rode back the other way looking for more.

No such luck.

Okay, I thought, time to count my blessings and head off to work. I got about 50 feet from the second $20 bill when I saw a folded piece of paper at the very edge of the street.

It was a $100 bill!

I started looking around to see if I was being filmed.

No one was around; it was just me and the found treasure.

Street booty. I found $140 on the street today. Bike commuting is a moneymaker

I grew up Catholic. Feelings of guilt began to rise within. Mea culpa. Mea cupla. Mea maxima culpa.

But only for a second.

Mea maxima cnote.

It must be my week.

Last night I made a donation to Sam and Jeff’s charity ride. I chalk up today’s bounty to bike karma.

Maybe if you made a donation, you’d get some bike karma too.

It was hawt (as they say in Beantown) for the ride home. I made it about 9 1/2 miles before the rumbles of thunder turned to rain. Just enough cool rain to take the edge off the heat. When I turned off the trail about 3 miles later the rain stopped.

When I got home, my lawn looked bone dry. Go figure.

Strange day.

Do Not Operate Machinery While on West Coast Baseball

West coast baseball is a killer. The games don’t start until my bedtime so I lose hours of sleep staying up watching.

The Nationals had last night’s game well in hand by 11 but like an idiot I watched the entire game, resulting in about 5 1/2 hours of sleep. By the end of this road trip I will be the riding dead.

I rode away from the house with a cold wet slap in the face from the transplanted volunteer silver maple next to the driveway. Wake up, eedgit!

Wobble. Wobble.

After about a mile I was more or less awake. Less than more I suppose.

The Mule is my steadiest steed for such groggy excursions.

Wobble. Wobble.

The trail was pretty much empty so I only had to stick my front wheel on the middle line and pedal.

After the Dyke Marsh bridge, I came upon the Potomac River. It seems it had overflowed its banks and submerged the trail before my weary eyes.

Splish. Splash.

I stopped for a look back.

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Onward.

Wobble. Wobble.

I gradually woke up with each passing mile. Pretty women cyclists seemed to proliferate near the airport. Normally this would be a cause for sexist celebration. This morning they were just obstacles impeding the wobbly progress of a cranky old man.

Get off of my bike path.

A tent was set up under the 14th Street bridge. A tad noisy but the price is right. I tried to jump under my wheel but somehow I avoided it.

Drivers in the Intersection of Doom must have sensed my grogginess. They took the day off from trying to kill me.

The sidewalk tiles in front of the Deloitte/CEB building felt like they were loose. Almost there.

I rode into the garage. John Miller yelled, “SAFE!”

I didn’t slide. It was a stand up bike commute.

Long Game, Longer Season

When I choose my commuting bike of the day, I often consider whether I will be doing something in DC in the evening. This week is no exception because the Nats are playing seven home games in a row. If I am going to hang out in town, I pick either Little Nellie or The Mule. They both have toe clips and straps which allows me to wear walking shoes. Yesterday, I didn’t have any plans so I chose Big Nellie which has clipless pedals.

In the afternoon, I received a message from Ed to go to the Nats game that night. Clipless or not, I’m in!

I rode to Nats Park without incident until I got to First Street NE. There a driver moved into the bike lane without signalling as I was approaching. I yelled at him and he proceeded onward nearly running over a pedestrian in a cross walk. If his timing were a little better he could have killed two people in the space of 20 yards.

I parked at the Bike Valet and headed to my seat. It was Jason Werth Chia Pe20318775242_ed33e577a4_zt night. Werth has a massive amount of facial hair so this made some sense. This and the Presidents’ race featuring a Chia Abe (he won) pretty much convinces me that the Nats promo department puts peyote buttons on their Nats Dogs.  And, of course, nothing says family-friendly like celebrating the only player on the team who has been in jail during the past year.

I met Ed in section 305 and a ball game broke out. It was a slow contest, made slower by the Nationals creeping incompetence. The Arizonas (their DBACKS logo looks from a distance like WHACKS) tried to give the Nats the game in the early going but the hometown team would have none of it. The Nats’ starting pitcher gave up hits and walks like Chia Pets. After being allowed to bat to end an inning he gave up a hit to the first batter he faced and was removed from the game. 35,000 fans wondered why hit was not pinch hit for. Oh, well. What do we know? The Nats brought in another, more generous thrower who managed to turn a swinging bunt into a 2-run triple. A third pitcher balked in a run. It was like a clinic in how not to play major league baseball. For the first time in ten years of baseball in DC, the crowd booed. And booed. And booed. People in the stands were making all kinds of nasty remarks. The only real cheers came when the Nats, now down 11-2, threw in the towel and brought in their back up first baseman to pitch.  (A move somewhat akin pulling the goalie in a lost cause hokey game) He quickly retired two batters, giving him an ERA of 0.00.

The only thing worse than the game were the undercooked vegan hot dogs I ate. They tasted flavorless and had the texture of a boiled doggie chew toy. Ack. It makes me wonder if bowls of steamed veggies and rice would sell at the ball park. Seriously. It would be way better than most of the crap, veggie or not, that they sell.

The game ran four hours. We left our seats and headed for home with the few thousand other fans who value depression over a good night’s sleep.

Ed and I rode down the I Street bike lane. As a stop light turned green two motorbikes did right hooks in front of me, nearly hitting me. Only 14 long, dark miles to go.

Actually, the rest of the ride home was nice. I know because Ed must have said “This ride is nice” at least 20 times. The Gnats weren’t even out so we could ride home without an involuntary protein snack.

I arrived home just before 1 am. In bed after 2, I awoke at 6 and rode to work.

By 3 pm I was in very strong disagreement with Chico Escuela.

I am hoping that Friday night’s game has a lot less suck.

It Felt Really Strange

For two summers I drove a cab. In Boston. (I was wikkid at driving a cah.) It has taken more than 35 years to get all the bad driving habits from that summer out of my system.

I can’t remember the last time I drove to work. Today I drove. It felt very strange. Even though traffic was light it was stressful. All the other drivers were doing stupid things. Couldn’t they see that I was driving? What is wrong with them?!!!

It all started with a humongous millipede. It was hairy and it was crawling on the top of the door in our bathroom. Normally, Mrs. Rootchopper calls for me to slay these invaders but, pressed for time, she decided to take matters into her own hands. Forgetting that she has been unable to jump since she was run over by an SUV, she jumped.

POP!

My daughter was standing right next to her and heard it. My wife both heard it and felt it.  It was her right calf tearing.

She tried to RICE (rest, ice, compression, elevation) it but, after getting better for a few days, it got worse. So yesterday she went to the ER. They put her lower leg in a cast making it impossible for her to drive. I could read the writing on the wall. I’ll be biking to work again some time in December. Ugh.

So I drove her to work today. Late in the morning I picked her up and drove her to the orthopedist. He took off the cast. The diagnosis took no time at all. Torn calf muscle. Four to six months to heal. Use crutches or a cane. No cast needed. You can drive.

CRUTCHES

He is now the official orthopedic surgeon of the Rootchopper Institute.

I’m back in the saddle again.

It will feel really normal. I don’t like strange.

There Must Be Some Mistake

After yesterday’s sweatfest, today was sublime. Clearly, the weather gods did not get the memo.

To: Weather Gods

From: Washington DC

Re: July

We will suffer each and every day through impossible heat and humidity. You will give us awesome weather in spring and fall. K? Thx.

I rode Big Nellie to work in shorts. The cool air was blowing up my legs. Eek!  I passed Ed on the way. Ed was going slow because he’s Ed and Ed does that sometimes.

I am pretty sure Chris M. came by with a GoPro camera on his head. It looked pretty silly but I may just be a video star once he edits my belly out of the picture and fills in my bald spot.

Even the drivers in Rosslyn were nice. Okay, nice-ish. I got into the garage at work unscathed only to be nearly vaporized by a massive pick up going way too fast. Big Nellie moved this way and that with aplomb. Okay, maybe aplomb isn’t the right word maybe azucchini.

My co-worker Kelly returned to bike commuting. The recent threat of evening storms scared her off. Of course, you’d be scared too if you were caught in rising water on your second bike commute. 19735364850_a005ed17db_z

At the end of the work day, she boldly slapped on her helmet for the perilous trip down the elevator to the locker room to change.  She also took a water bottle in case the elevator got stuck for more than a day. We haven’t heard from her since she left.  Also, she has a habit of talking to walls but I’m sure this pre-dated her adventures in bike commuting.

I left about an hour later. I stopped to take a picture of the beautiful blossoms covering the Mount Vernon Trail just across the the Washington Monument. I heard somewhere that this tree is a white ash tree. I h19736818498_f0309d11e2_zave not verified this. In fact, I am about as good at tree identification as I am at facial recognition. I took a picture but I got in the way.  I wore a helmet to keep the blossoms off my fusiform gyrus. I think it worked.

As you can see I was in a good mood. I was congratulating myself about giving some advice to a friend. The advice panned out nicely for her. As a result, I figure I  will probably not see her until autumn 2016 or so. I apparently have a talent for this sort of thing. A few years ago I advised someone to quit her job. She moved 12,000 miles away a few weeks later. If only I could work this magic on tech stocks.

I took a dang-it’s-a-nice-evening lap of Hains Point then headed for home. Big Nellie was really cruising along nicely when I ran into Mike and Lisa aboard their purple DaVinci tandem. It has the cool feature that unlike most tandems the captain (up front) pedals independently of the stoker (in back).

Every once in a while, Mike and Lisa ride down the Mount Vernon Trail to explore my neck of the woods and beyond. They have an impressive cruising radius and appear to like riding up steep hills. We chatted for nearly a half hour on the side of the trail. One would think that I’d think to take their picture. One would be wrong.

We did talk about this year’s 50 States Ride. They host one of the rest stops at their home in Tacoma Park. It is the best rest stop ever. In 2013, I pulled up to the house and Mike stood on his porch and yelled “ROOTCHOPPER” repeatedly. Lisa threatened to call 911 and he stopped. In 2014, he put a banner on his house that said, “All Hail ROOTCHOPPER.”  This year’s ride is on September 12. I can’t recommend it enough. I’ve done it seven times including each of the last five years. Be forewarned, it’s a lot harder than it sounds, but it’s a pretty good bet that you will meet some great people along the way. I will be out of town for this year’s event, but I expect a complete report from my #bikedc peeps.

We made our promise to go to a ball game together. We haven’t pulled this off yet but one of these days the stars will align and we’ll get it done.

We went our separate ways. I took the long way home.

The weather gods were pleased.

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night

Well, I don’t know about dark but yesterday’s evening rush hour was Lena Horne stormy. Hail. Thunder. Lightning. Wind. Torrents of rain.

Just the thing for breaking in (or, perhaps breaking) a new bike commuter. So my co-worker Kelly set out  to beat the storm. She has a 40 minute commute and was determined to beat this storm as she had beat the previous two evening storms.

Her luck ran out.

She found herself seeking shelter under I-395 just north of Shirlington. Good idea. Yay, Kelly.

Alas, here is Kellyfloodwhere Four Mile Run is pinched by the underpass and the Four Mile Run trail. The creek had become a rage of white water. The waters began to rise over the artificial banks. Kelly found herself standing in eight inches of water.

Eek.

At least she took her predicament well. ‘

After a few minutes of terror, she rode home.  the storm had passed. The waters receded.

Home. Warm and dry.

After recovering her sanity and walking her faithful canine Paddington, she went back out and rode to the bike commuters’ Third Thursday Happy Hour in Shirlington.

Our end of a very long set of tables filled with bike commuters included Ed and Erin. I have been reading Erin;s blog for a while and looked forward to meeting her. It turns out she’s yet another member of the Rootchopper Prosopamnesia Club. We met on the Mount Vernon Trail last summer. I only began to connect her to the meeting after hearing her speak.

After happiness was achieved, Kelly went right and Ed, Erin, and I went left. I led the three of us over the hills in Alexandria. In Del Ray Erin veered off for home. Ed and I took my supersecret route through Old Town. South of the beltway, we took Fort Hunt Road and Sherwood Hall Lane instead of the MVT, because nothing makes beer in your belly feel quite as awful as some bicycle hill climbing.

I woke up extra early (my beer and black bean burger wanted nothing to do with a full night’s sleep) and rode to Friday Coffee Club with surprising spring in my legs.

Now if only I can get home without killing my legs so I can go on that hike tomorrow with Ultrarunnergirl. White Oak Canyon, here we come!.

Three Stage Bike Commuting

I have been a sloven blogger. Monday’s ride to work featured a five minute conversation with Ellen, a bike rider whom I have never seen before. She was admiring my Bike Friday. I will likely never see her again. Such is the impermanence of the social life of the moving cyclist.

Tuesday was a great day to ride to work. So I worked from home. Instead of doing a short bike ride in the evening I mowed my lawn. This frees up Saturday so I can go for a hike in Shenandoah National Park with Ultrarunnergirl. Woot!

Can. Not. Wait.

Yesterday’s bike commute came in three stages. It was like the Tour de France only not so much. The ride to work was uneventful. I was hoping a random passing cyclists would admire my legs and chat me up, but, as is always the case, this didn’t happen.

Stage two was an evening ride from the office to Smith Public Trust in the Brookland neighborhood of DC. This ride took me across town at rush hour. I managed to improvised a route that made it a breeze. I took the Mount Vernon Trail to the 14th Street Bridge. (Along the way I passed the snow goose which I am now convinced is a swan.) From there I rode into Southwest DC. Up 7th Street all the was to K Street NW. Then K to the Metropolitan Branch Trail which dropped me off about a mile from the pub. There was a happy hour to wish Shane Farthing a fare thee well as he moves on from his position as the Managing Director of the Washington Area Bicyclists Association.

There were many #bikedc people. I met many #bikedc people. There were nachos. There was beer. I stayed way too long.

I headed for home at around 9:30. Thankfully, Dave Salovesh  escorted me down the MBT. I was riding Little Nellie which has little wheels. Little wheels are fun to ride because they are twitchy.Twitchy is not a good thing when you’ve been drinking. (Biking is not a good thing when you’ve been drinking. The Brookland transporter pod was broken leaving me little choice.) I was also using clipless pedals for the third time since March.

I nearly killed myself trying to negotiate a sharp left turn on the trail. I tried to unclip to put my foot down but the shoe wouldn’t disengage. I rode off the trail, luckily into some grass. No fatality, no foul.

Dave took me to the new 1st Street NW cycletrack. It is fantastic. There is a concrete berm, a physical separation between the main lane and the cycletrack. Wonderful.

Dave headed to Salovesh Estates on Capitol Hill. I headed west on the mall then took my usual route home on the Mount Vernon Trail.

It was raining lightly. My head was clearing from the beer. Now I was just dead tired. Only 14 miles to go.

Pedal. Pedal.

Watch out for that fox!

Watch out for that rabbit!

Watch out for that deer!

And here I was worried about cars in the city. The damned wildlife nearly got me.

I made it home around midnight.

After six hours of sleep, I rode to work today.

I am on my way home.

By way of the Third Thursday Happy Hour in Shirlington.

I Don’t Think She’s a Muggle

This morning’s ride to work featured a rarity. A Linel sighting!  Normally she rides to work about a half hour after me. She has been known to wear an invisibility cloak, too. But this morning I spotted her about 200 yards in front of me. I could tell it was her by her Nutcase helmet and super posh Surly Long Haul Trucker.

I didn’t put the hammer down to catch her though. This was one of those mornings when I needed some alone time. (I’d be in much better biking shape if I were an extrovert.) To givDSCN3987_1116e credit where credit is due, Linel was going so fast the trees were blurry. Must have been using floo powder.

Linel took a left onto South Royal Street. I continued straight to stay on the Mount Vernon Trail. As I passed under the bridge I saw some folks working on their fencing skills.

Near the 14th Street bridge, the tree that had fallen during last night’s storm was still lying across the trail. To the left was a whole mess of standing water. To the right was only the slightest of openings. I went right. It looked blocked but I rode right through. Sweet.

Somewhere near this point Chris M. rode past me heading south. He even took my picture. Portrait of Obliviousman.

The ride home was a breeze. I was lost in thought about a son flying to Thailand, the disappointment of impermanent friendship, and a weekend begging to be filled with movement. Sometimes I wonder how I stay upright.

The fallen tree had been cut up, removing the morning’s obstruction. Props to the Park Service for its quick removal. (Why they can’t do the same with snow is beyond me.)

Once clear of the airport, I was back in a trance.

I am working from home tomorow. The gas company is replacing the gas line to my home. I want to be here if they blow something up.  If they do, somebody else will have to continue this blog. I’ll be in orbit.

Broken Shell, Broken Heart

Every May I look forward to seeing snapping turtles laying their eggs on the edge of the Mount Vernon Trail. Snappers are big. Their shells are about the size of a dinner plate. If you get you fingers near their mouths, you won’t have them for long.

Last week I saw a baby snapping turtle. It looked just like an adult but its shell was only about as big as a 50 cent piece.

Today, I saw an adult snapper next to the trail. It didn’t register in my mind until I had ridden past it. I stopped and walked back only to see something horrible. The turtle was alive but in obvious distress, it’s shell cracked just behind its head. I have no idea how this happened but my guess is that it was run over by a car.

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I was relieved to see that it was gone when I rode past this evening.

About an hour later, my daughter and I were driving to dinner in Old Town. About a half mile from where I saw this turtle, I saw another one at the edge of the George Washington Memorial Parkway. It had been run over and looked like it was dead.

I really wanted to see some snapper turtles this spring. Now I am not so sure.