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.
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.
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.
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 Washington 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.
I’ve been riding a bike for longer than most readers of this blog have been alive. One thing that astounds me is the fact that I still am routinely suckered in by a tailwind. You know the feeling when you are zipping along effortlessly on a bike and your brain says, “Damn, I got it going today.” Then you turn around and find out that you were being pushed along by a fierce tailwind. My college friends Becca and Susan used to mock me for being gullible. They had it right.
This has been a week of threats. The looming threat of thunderstorms. Well, it boomed a little last night after I went to bed, but my commutes have been mostly rain free. Except for tonight. I was doing okay for the first few miles. There were some towering thunderclouds hanging about, but nothing to worry about. (I had reason to worry. I was on a steel bike, with a steel u-lock and a metal laptop. I was a lightning magnet.) I should have been more concerned about the rain though. As I passed under the 14th Street bridge I felt a few drops. Cyclists coming from the airport ahead of me were stopping under the bridges I had yet to go under. As I cleared the last one, I saw it: a squall line running from east to west across the Potomac River. I rode right into it. The wind was blowing the rain into my face. The cold water felt pretty good though. As I turned to head due west at Gravelly Point I could see the rain coming down sideways. A few minutes later I emerged from the back end of the line and all was copacetic. Once I cleared the airport, I had some tree cover to cut the headwind. Live was good.
Somebody placed a series of signs along the trail the other day. They had lost their keys. The signs showed that even when an inconvenience comes, some people still have a sense of humor. As the good doctor once said, “It’s fun to have fun but you have to know how.”
Today was a four-regular day. I saw Three Step Runner and Hoppy Guy in the morning. In the evening I saw Bent Ankle Biker and French Braid Girl. French Braid Girl has been to the beach; her arms were bronze. I actually have a couple of other people in mind for regular status. One is a man who I see walking along the trail across the DC monuments. He takes his time and picks up trash as he goes. He always says “Hello.” The other is a guy on a blue mountain bike. He has two small panniers on a rack on the back. He lives down near me. The bike looks like a beater bike except that the tires are smooth and he has an aero bar on the front. He hauls ass on that thing.
When I left the office last night, a colleague, noting the hot and muggy weather outside said, “You’re not riding home in this weather, are you?” My response was, “It beats the hell out of January.” I might have added February, March and April to that.
One of the best things about riding in warm weather is the transitions. I don’t have to put all those extra layers of clothing on. Shirt, shorts, socks, shoes. GO,
Tomorrow’s a no-go. My son is having his wisdom teeth out so I will be working from home to make sure he doesn’t have any problems. I am looking forward to a nice long ride this weekend. Maybe I’ll take Big Nellie out and make vroom vroom noises at the Rolling Thunder motorcycle riders.
The weather report was perfect. I had to work. Despite the fact that I didn’t get home from a business trip on Thursday until 10 p.m., I decided to ride to work for the 61st time this year on Friday. 14,600+ people decided to give it a go as well. Friday was Bike to Work Day here in DC.
Little Nellie was in the shop. Big Nellie would be hard to park if my colleagues participated in the festivities of the day. The Mule got the call.
As soon as I pulled it down from its hook, I could tell the headset was loose. I only had one headset wrench so I snugged it up and hoped for the best. The steering felt off but it worked. Onward! (Nothing says Bike to Work Day like a good crash, I always say.) Instead of taking the 3-mile bee line, a diagonal route to the Mount Vernon Trail, I took the 4-mile route, straight to the MVT and then a 90 degree turn toward DC. Shortly after making the turn I spotted a group of people under a canopy. It was the good folks from Spokes Etc., my local bike store, staffing a pit stop. I had registered for the Rosslyn pit stop was near my office, but I pulled in to say hello and asked them to check my headset.
After thanking them, I was off headed northwest on the MVT. No bald eagles could be seen,but the warm weather and the green canopy made for a perfect ride. In Old Town, I took South Royal Street, which I don’t normally do, so that I could swing by the Old Town pit stop at Royal and East King Streets in front of City Hall. It was hopping at a little after 7. Rather than get caught up in the festivities, I took a couple of pix and headed out again. I only had so much room in my panniers for free handouts after all.
From Alexandria to DC, I found myself in one cluster of riders after another. Mostly they were newbies. I could tell this because regular riders are usually faster than me and I was doing a lot of passing. Everyone was having a good time and riding with care except for two impatient riders on racing bikes who sped past me without warning. One did this as I was passing a rider nearly forcing me to crash. I yelled out at him, “You know better!” I wanted to say more, using words and phrases that began with “F” but I didn’t. (Next Monday, I’m letting the F dogs run!)
Along the way I saw the French Braid Girl and the Hardware Store Guy. It’s nice to see that my regulars were not deterred by the crowds. I expected to find a back up at the one lane underpass at the Memorial Bridge, but it was a only ten-second wait to get through.
Unlike last year, the Rosslyn pit stop had few people that I knew. Many of my #bikedc associates were at Freedom Plaza in DC or Friday Coffee Club. I did run into Mark (@dismalscientist) and Shawn (@Shawnofthedread). Also, Bob (Don’t Call Me Rachel) Cannon (@rcannon100) was there volunteering at the swag table. Good to see them all.
Bob Cannon at the Rosslyn Pit Stop
Instead of heading for home after work, I headed up a long hill on Wisconsin Avenue to Cathedral Heights where my daughter goes to high school. Her final choral concert started at 7. With time to kill and a belly to fill, I ate some pizza and beer at 2 Amys. I would have gone elsewhere, but I didn’t want to end up riding back up the hill and getting all sweaty. Mrs. Rootchopper (not to mention the rest of the audience) might not approve.
After supper, I glided all the way to the school. Weee. I locked up my bike, changed into my new dark blue Bike to Work Day 2013 t-shirt and went in to enjoy the show. The show was terrific as usual. I nearly caused my daughter to laugh mid-song as she caught me laughing. at something. (I looked away for the rest of the number until she got her composure back.) Following school tradition, the various choral groups all took the stage together with non-chorus seniors and alumni. They sang Bruce Springsteen’s My City of Ruins. Near the end my daughter started to cry. This being the senior’s last concert, of course, all the other senior girls near her started in with the tears too. Awww.
After the show, I dropped a pannier in the trunk of Mrs. Rootchopper’s car and headed for home. I rolled down 29th and Calvert Streets, about a mile with only a couple of pedal rotations. Weee.
I continued my downhill folly into Rock Creek Park on the park’s trail A runner coming up the hill from the park was running on my side of the trail causing me to brake until he stepped aside. Dude, it’s not London, don’t go messing with my roll.
Into the park in the dark I sped. I had no trouble with hunger, because every five seconds I rode into a swarm of gnats. It was so bad I held my breath and had to pick them out of my eyes. I heard a splash to my right. A yearling deer was clumsily running through the creek. On I rode, passing a couple of oncoming bikes that were without headlights. Newbies, don’t learn the hard way, spring for a light. $35 bucks is cheaper than an ER bill.
I followed the river to the 14th Street bridge dancing with the tour buses and blasting through more gnat clouds. Once over the river, the gnats thinned out a pit. I plucked them out of my eye lids, eye brows, teeth, and nose. Ick.
Heading for home on the MVT, there were ninjas all over the place, some near the airport were toddlers. Sadly, if brains are acquired genetically, they will not be Mensa members, because their parents are idiots. I was glad I didn’t ride my recumbent because on The Mule my head is facing down, allowing me to use the visor on my helmet to shield my eyes from the car headlights when the MVT runs next to the GW Parkway.
I was riding into a headwind both ways today but didn’t much notice or care. Some of this was from adrenaline from seeing so many, many people riding today. When I could see I was clipping along at 15 miles per hour, not bad for an old fart on a Mule.
South of Old Town the trail gets mighty dark. Four men walked across the trail in front of me in Belle Haven Park. They were wearing white shirts that lit up when my headlight landed on them. A hundred yards later, I rode around a bend in the trail and saw two bright lights ahead. The lights were some sort of critter who quickly darted into the underbrush along the side of the trail. I hoped it wasn’t a skunk. Thankfully, it wasn’t.
Once past the critter, I went on autopilot. It was such a beautiful night for a ride. I really should ride at night more often.
I pulled in to home at 10, bug-covered, but happy. Another loverly ride to work. I really should do this more often, don’t you think. How about Monday? Don’t mind if I do.
My heartfelt thanks to the people who got up way before dawn to set up the pit stops and support all the riders.
To see the pix I took, take a look over on my Flickr page.
Today was my first day back on the bike after Sunday’s mess of a century ride. Monday and Tuesday were car commutes that allowed me to watch my daughter play lacrosse at schools in Potomac Maryland. (One loss, one win, no injuries.)
The ride in aboard Little Nellie was uneventful. I left a little early and saw the Broken Ankle Biker and French Braid Girl. A red light runner failed to hit me at the Rosslyn Circle of Doom. Free financial advice for Arlington County: if you want to increase revenues just place a traffic cop at this light. You’ll write dozens of tickets for red light running. Or you can take the chance that somebody gets killed and his or her family sues the county for gross negligence. There will be plenty of hostile witnesses.
The radar promised a nasty ride home but the rain turned out to be light and the winds tolerable. As I came to the 14th Street Bridge underpass I spotted my first goslings of the year. These babies were fuzzy and their feathers had a tint of green in them. The real fun now will be watching them grow.
Goslings!!!!!
A mile later I came upon five Park Police cars parked on and near the trail near the Daingerfield Island Marina. The officers stood on the trail having a calm discussion. My working theory is that one of them had extra tickets to tonight’s Nats game.
The streets of Old Town were just wet enough to lift the oil off the pavement. This gave me an excuse to go slowly which my still-tired legs appreciated. Of course, I rarely need any help riding slowly. I am one seriously lethargic bike commuter.
South of Old Town, I came upon an all too frequent sight, a car crash at the intersection of Belle View Boulevard and the Parkway. I saw one damaged car and some people standing about and two police cars. What did the car hit? As I rolled on, I saw tire tracks in the grass leading from the intersection to the trail. When I arrived at home, I received a text message from Reba, fellow Mount Vernon bike commuter and Friday Coffee Clubber. The other car in the collision had crossed the trail and ended up in the woods! I never even saw it.
Like the Rosslyn Circle of Death this intersection cries out for a re-design. A traffic light or traffic circle is desperately needed. Alas, the historic integrity of the Parkway must be preserved.
It’s been hanging there in the shed for weeks and weeks. New chain, new cassette, new brake pads. 32,300 miles on the odometer. Waiting to make the long march to 33,000. Today it began.
I rolled the Mule out of the shed and headed to work on yet another unseasonably cold morning. It was 46 degrees when I left the house. Everything about the Mule felt unusual. The saddle, a Brooks Champion, seems to be more like a sling. I should probably replace it, but it fits my butt like the pocket of a outfielder’s glove fits a baseball. The brake hoods felt too far away. The brakes, despite new pads, are mushy. Despite all this, it seemed to take off with little effort on my part.
A mile from the house, in a quiet suburban neighborhood, the Mule and I were buzzed by a minivan. There was no reason for the driver to come so close (not that there ever is a legitimate one). There was no one else on the road, no parked cars either. Still the van came within a foot of my left side. I doubt the driver even saw me.
The Mule made its way down to the Mount Vernon Trail. The Potomac River was running high and spilled across the trail near Dyke Marsh. I picked my feet up and glided through like a little kid. Whee.
No goslings yet. Lots and lots of mallards and Canada geese, though. We’ll have mallards and ducklings soon enough. I didn’t see any raptors or egrets either. I suppose they move with the shallow water.
In Old Town, the base of King Street near the river was flooded. This must happen a dozen times per year. You’d think they’d build a levee or something. I wonder if you could sit outside the Starbucks on the corner and fish. I’ll have a Grande Frankenfish and a Venti Americano.
By the time I made it to work, I was feeling cramped on the Mule. My hands had gradually moved forward onto the brake hoods as my back loosened up. My left knee was complaining. (This always happens when I go from one bike to another. My feet don’t like Big Nellie. My right knee and my back don’t like Little Nellie. My left knee doesn’t like the Mule.) The pain will subside after I ride the Mule for a few more days.
I made it through the Rosslyn Circle of Death without incident. I learned later in the day that another cyclists wasn’t so fortunate. How many medivacs does it take before something changes?
It was much warmer for the ride home but I had a strong, gusting headwind and incredible amounts of pollen to contend with. After the Memorial Bridge, I came upon a photoshoot of some sort. There were reflecting umbrellas on stands, one on each side of the trail. Some young women were holding on to bikes. One of the bikes looked like a little like a bikeshare bike. There was so much activity on the trail I don’t know how they were going to get any pictures taken. I didn’t stick around to find out. A minute later I saw Bob (Don’t Call Me Rachel) Cannon riding in a short line of cyclists. He was my only regular of the day.
The rest of the ride home was a slog. As soon as I’d get any speed at all, a gust of wind would take it away. There was no sign of flooding in Old Town but the river was still very high. The water came right up to the underside of the Dyke Marsh boardwalk. Once past that, I had some tree cover and the headwinds were lessened. It’s incredible how much some foliage does to slow the wind down. I stopped at the drug store to pick up a prescription and bought some eye drops to get the pollen out of my eyes.
I was planning on driving to work tomorrow so that I could attend my daughter’s lacrosse game. Over dinner she told me that the game is canceled. Many of the players on her team are sick, I would imagine from allergies. So I ride again tomorrow.
It’s mid-April. In Washington DC. I froze on the ride to work this morning. Can we have our spriing back?
Yours
Rootchopper
I wouldn’t have froze if I broke out my jacket and holey sweater but I didn’t. It’s the principle of the thing.
The ride in aboard Big Nellie was tearful. The cold on my eyes made me tear up like the end of It’s a Wonderful Life. Zuzu’s pedals!
I saw four regulars on the way in: Three-Step Runner, Hoppy Guy, Nancy One-Bag Duley, and French Braid Girl. They are always going the opposite way. I wonder if they don’t get together for coffee at my house after I pass them. There are others I see nearly every day, but they aren’t distinctive. Nancy may get renamed Wave Crash because she waves so enthusiastically I am afraid she’s going to crash.
Along the way I heard a peep-like sound over head. Riding a recumbent makes it much easier to see things high up. The peep came from a hawk of some sort, perched on a branch of the tree I was passing under.
When I came off the second flyover bridge at National Airport, I spotted three big birds circling over Roaches Run, a little inlet on the opposite side of the GW Parkway. It looks like a big pond. It was hard to get a good visual fix on the birds, then, suddenly, one took an awkward dive to the water. Dang, that’s a hard way to get breakfast. I think they were ospreys.
I came to the Gravelly Point parking lot and some military folks were doing some sort of timed run. I came to their finish line just as two runners were finishing. They were so focussed on their time that they blocked the entire path. I slowed to a crawl until everyone realized that what my bell was for and they stepped aside.
It was considerably warmer for the ride home. Another osprey was stalking the fish in the Potomac near the 14th Street Bridge. I stopped to take a picture of the scaffold on the Washington Monument. Several years ago a scaffold was erected on the monument to allow workers to do maintenance. We had an earthquake a couple of years ago so more work is needed. Up goes the scaffold.
I spotted a man on a bike with big fat tires. I wondered if he could ride at a decent pace. I looked away for a minute and he was long gone. Later I saw him crossing the GW Parkway south of Alexandria. It looked to me as if he had an electric motor in the rear wheel. Cheater.
Put one of those bad boys on the back wheel of Big Nellie and we’ll see who’s boss, punk.
Another lovely day for a ride to work. The Mount Vernon Trail was very busy with bike commuters and others. On the way to work I saw five regulars: Hoppy Guy, Three Step Runner, Nancy Duley, French Braid Girl ( though her hair wasn’t braided), and GraffixNerd Clone.
I was passed by at least a dozen bike commuters. Everybody was on their best behavior. I arrived at the Rosslyn Circle of Death without incident. For the last several days, I have watch cars blow the red light at the intersection of the MVT and North Lynn Street to make a right turn. Why bother stopping on a right turn on red?
I left work a few minutes early. Ed, a co-worker who commutes on a fixie from Old Town Alexandria, rode next to me. We chatted side by side most of the way. I got some ugly looks from on-coming riders. I was taking up too much space on the trail. My bad. I won’t do it again.
Near the TR bridge boardwalk, Chris B. came rolling by. He’s a semi-regular. We also past Broken Ankle Guy. This is a bike rider with one foot that is askew; it enters the toe clip at an angle, which obviously slows him down quite a bit. I see him a lot.
Ed put me through my paces. He was toying with me. He’s much young and is actually in shape. I am old and my shape is a pear.
I arrived home in plenty of time to shower and change and head out to the Birchmere. Mrs. Rootchopper saw the Proclaimers perform.
After yesterday’s events, it was refreshing to hear them sing the words, “I’m on my way from misery to happiness today.”
I rode to work in a light drizzle, a little underdressed but too stubborn to pull my layers out. No goslings yet. I did see Three Step Runner and Hardware Store Man, two of my regulars on the way in. About a mile from work, Bob (Don’t Call Me Rachel) Cannon from the two FCCs rode by on his way to Southwest DC. Under the TR Bridge I spotted a Tricolored Heron next to the trail. It’s the first time I’ve seen one. I didn’t bother stopping to take a picture because he would have flown off as soon as I did. Herons don’t much like paparazzi.
I left work just after lunch to go to an eye appointment in Old Town Alexandria. On the way I passed Katie (@itsnotlucky). I don’t normally see her in motion; she’s usually helping out at some event or other, dressed very colorfully. She wasn’t dressed colorfully, but, as always, she was smiling. The world needs more smilers.
My eye doctor is a bike commuter which I think is pretty neat. He checked out my retinas, my corneas and my eye pressure. Three thumbs up. I rode home with dilated pupils, making a cloudy day appear bright even with sunglasses on.
When I got home I checked my email, which was not very easy to read with the dilated pupils and all. Not much going on at work. Then I checked my Twitter feed and my heart broke.
I lived in Boston for five years. I went to the Boston Marathon, usually down near Kenmore Square, whenever I could. When I had to work, I listened to the race on the radio. I remember the year Bill Rodgers won for the first time. On the radio, the announcers and the crowds were going crazy. I couldn’t comprehend why anyone would run a marathon, which probably had something to do with my two-pack a day cigarette habit.
Before I moved to Providence, I quit smoking and bought a bike. New England autumn days are short so I parked the bike and started to run. Three years later I ran the Ocean State Marathon in Newport RI in 3:10:18. The last three miles were pure hell. My running friends said that the bear jumped on my back.
I always wanted to run Boston, but, back then the qualifying time was 2:40, which is wicked fast. I’d go up to see the race when I could. I was there when a Boston motorcycle cop unintentionally caused Dick Beardsley to make a wide turn and gave Alberto Salazar just enough separation to win one of the greatest races in marathon history.
Today, history was made again in Boston. Tragic history. I know how it feels to be in the crowd cheering on your friends. The whole city stops to celebrate. Today, some sick person or persons used this beautiful event to kill and maim. I feel for the victims.
I remember riding in Bike DC just a few days after September 11. The riders sang God Bless America before the start near RFK Stadium. The ride itself, shortened by an understandable lack of police support, sucked, but it was important for everyone to do the ride. To keep on. So tomorrow, if you can, go for a run. Or a ride. To keep on. This time for Boston.
A Few Spokes Shy of a Wheel 