I rode to work and went to the baseball game last night. On the way home I managed to avoid running across (quite literally) a homeless person splayed across the access path to the Case Bridge trail. Somewhere just shy of the Olympic drunk slalom that is Old Town on a Saturday night, Little Nellie’s odometer turned 17,000 miles.
The next milestone will be in a week to ten days. I’ve been working on it for 25 years. Stay tuned.
Many years ago some loony at the Washington Area Bicyclists Association (WABA) concocted a ride through all eight wards of the District of Columbia. As the name implies, the 50 States Ride takes participants along each of the 50 roads named for states in DC.
It is a challenging ride, but it is not a race. After about 20 miles of flat riding near downtown, the hills begin. There are many hills, a few steep ones, a few long ones. What goes up must come down, right? Well, not so much. Nearly every downhill ends in a stop sign or a traffic light. Riders do the work but they don’t get the full benefit of the hills. That’s why it is harder than nearly any other 62 mile ride you can do. (Also, make sure your brakes work!) What I am trying to say is this: if you intend on doing the whole ride, bring your A game. Or bail on the Metro back to the after party. We won’t judge. (Rosie Ruiz, phone home.)
Another fun part of the ride is the 9-page cue sheet. It is practically impossible to do the ride without making a wrong turn. The route changes from year to year so even experienced riders screw up. I missed the second turn in 2014 and I’d done the ride six times.
The frequent stops and insane directions have an added benefit: they practically force you to talk with the other riders, many of whom will be strangers (unless you are one of those creepy people with over 1,500 Facebook friends). If you don’t meet people on this ride, you may have deep personal issues. I first did this ride in 2006. As I have said many times before, the 50 States Ride is responsible for me meeting over 60 people.
Here’s another benefit: when you do the ride several times over the years you get to see first hand the incredible transformation that has occured in DC. A friend of mine and I have done the ride together twice. In January 2012 we attended a WABA happy hour at a bar near Nationals Park. She remarked that she had never been in this section of the city before. When I told her that we had ridden past that very spot only three years before, her jaw dropped.
I have worn a 50 States t-shirt outside of DC many times. I love it when people ask me incredulously, “You’ve ridden in all 50 States?!”
In order to do the ride, you must be a WABA member. So click on the link up above and sign up. This year’s ride is on Saturday, September 10.
I will be out there for the 8th time this year. Somebody give me a push up Garfield Street please.
Big Nellie is my Easy Racers Tour Easy recumbent. I bought her in 2001 or 2002 when I thought The Mule was on its last legs. (At the moment, The Mule is laughing in the shed with over 41,000 miles on its odometer.)
So today, with trumpets blaring as I rode between the scenic warehouses of Old Town Alexandria, Big Nellie turned 40,000 miles. She was quite impressed with herself. On to the next milestone later this week or early next week. Stay tuned.
August will prove to be a month of milestones for biking and me. Today is the first of what I hope to be four milestones this month.
Today marks my 100th bike commute of 2016. I have reached 100 faster a few years ago but given the amount of time off from work I took this June and July, I am a bit surprised to get to 1oo in the first week of August.
I worked 131 days so far this year. 10 of those were telework. I drove 21 times, mostly because of ice and snow. The rest of the time I biked. The commutes were split among three bikes: 28 commutes for Little Nellie, my Bike Friday; 36 times each for The Mule, my 25 year old Specialized Sequoia, and Big Nellie, my Tour Easy recumbent.
I expect the next milestone to occur on Monday. Stay tuned.
The Mount Vernon Trail is one of the most heavily used trails on the East Coast. Ab
out two miles from my house, the trail merges with Northdown Road. As
you can see from the picture, at this point, the trail and road are only one lane wide. It is in fact a trail not a road. That didn’t stop this cement truck driver from parking in the trail. I’d use the words “middle of the trail” but the truck obstructed the entire trail. Every last inch. Perhaps the driver thought “Hey, look at this trail. It’s the perfect width for parking my truck.”
Trail users had to dismount and make their way through the mud on the side of the trail. It was barely wide enough to get by.
I may be making a big deal out of nothing but this is the kind of disrespect that bicyclists and bicycle infrastructure routinely get, especially in places like Fairfax County. All this truck driver had to do was park where I was standing when I took this picture and trail users would have had free passage.
Earlier today, a 92 year old driver was parking his SUV in an alley a block from the Mount Vernon Trail in Old Town, Alexandria. He hit a parking attendant, then he hit another man, killing him. How the hell you can kill someone in an alley that is about as wide as the trail in the picture above is beyond me. Why in the world does Virginia allow 92 year olds to drive? Will somebody from the DMV show up at the funeral to explain this to the loved ones of the deceased?
Meanwhile in the 400 block of North Union Street an SUV was parked perpendicular to a house. It’s front end completely obstructed the sidewalk. Sticking in the ground next to the front bumper was a sign that said “No Not Block Driveway.” There is no end to the entitlement mentality of the landed gentry of Old Town Alexandria.
On Friday evening at rush hour my family and I drove to Tyson’s Corner. (This is the first time I have driven to Tyson’s in a year. It will be the last, but that’s another story.) On the way we got on the Beltway at US 1, just west of the Woodrow Wilson Bridge. Traffic heading to the bridge from Virginia was backed up for miles. In all six lanes. The bridge is only a few years old. The project to rebuild the bridge and the adjacent roadway and exits cost about $2.5 billion. The rationale was that this would relieve congestion. Trying to relieve congestion by adding more capacity is like trying to achieve happiness by buying more stuff. If only I had one more lane! If only I had one more HDTV!
The bridge was designed with the capacity to carry a Metro rail line. This has yet to be implemented. Already people are calling for the rail line space to be converted to car lanes.
July was my biggest mileage month in ages. Maybe forever. I rode 1,183 miles. Most of these were as part of my bike tour of Wisconsin and Michigan which totaled 832 miles. The other 351 miles came as a result of 11 bike commutes and yesterday‘s weekend ride. One of these commutes was to and from the mechanic instead of home. Another involved riding to my wife’s office to rendezvous with my kids to see a Nats game.
During the month, The Mule crossed the 41,000 mile threshold. The Mule abides.
For the year I have ridden 4,555 miles. 2,807 miles were just from bike commuting 96 times. Even though it’s 25 years old, the Mule accounted for 46 percent of my mileage. Big Nellie, which is about 14 years old, did 25 percent of my miles. Little Nellie, my folding travel bike, bagged 18 percent of my miles. That left only 11 percent for my Cross Check. I am just not riding teh Cross Check much on weekends. I am thinking of using it for commuting in a month or so.
I have only done a three event rides this year (Vasa, Five Boro, and DC Bike Ride).
I didn’t do any hiking in July. I mean to fix that next month.
Also, I signed up for three century rides in September and October. I will almost certainly do the 50 States Ride in September and the Great Pumpkin Ride in late October.
According to the fitness center scale at work, the bike tour took well over ten pounds off my “engine.” I suspect measurement error. If the scale isn’t broken, I am down in the low 190s. When the trip ended two weeks ago, I was probably in the high 180s.
Maybe I should quit my job and market the Rootchopper Weight Loss Plan in which you eat enormous portions of cheese laden food and drop 20 pounds in less than two weeks. The secret sauce (as it were) is to ride a 70+ pound bicycle 73 miles per day.
The plan was to put two new tires on The Mule. Then I walked outside. It was MUGGY. Then I looked at the old tires on The Mule. They looked acceptable. Sort of.
Then I jumped on my neglected Cross Check and headed to Great Falls Park in Maryland.
The first 13 miles was essentially my commute route, the Mount Vernon Trail and the 14th Street Bridge, to DC. Ohio Drive and some sidewalks masquerading as bike trails took me to K Street in Georgetown. I survived the half mile traffic gauntlet and made it to the Capital Crescent Trail.
I was making pretty decent time. This is attributable to three factors: a light tailwind, fresh legs, and, well, I’m a badass.
I switched over to the C&O Canal towpath at mile 18. The Cross Check loves the towpath. After a couple of miles, I had some solitude and it was bliss. Sweaty bliss but bliss nonetheless.
I rode past Widewater, a section of the canal just downriver from Great Falls. There were about 8 women sitting on stand up paddle boards in the canal. They were finishing, I am not making this up, a yoga class. Floating yoga? Really?
I stopped to check out the rapids at Great Falls. It rained heavily yesterday and the rapids were muddy and raging. If you’ve never been to DC, make sure you put Great Falls on your to do list. (I prefer the Maryland side because it has the towpath, a trail out through the rapids, and several really good hiking trails.)
After watching the water show, I headed out of the park on the access road. It’s a long up hill that leads to what is normally a fun, curving downhill. Unfortunately, the road surface is choppy and, even on the Cross Check, not a road I want to ride over 30 miles per hour on.
I survived the descent.
The ride back was a familiar one along MacArthur Boulevard to Resevoir Road, back to the canal. From there I retraced my ride out with the exception of using a new bike path through the park on the Georgetown waterfront. The path is nice enough, but on an oppressively hot day the pedestrians and tourists on bikes were annoying. They’d just stop and chat in the middle of the path.
I had the following conversation a half dozen times:
“PASSING!”
“Oh. Sorry.”
I have the patience of a Swede.
The ride home was uneventful. There were no Lance Mamilots to irritate me. Despite encountering plenty of families with little ones riding tentatively on the trail, I remained civil.
How unlike me.
When I arrived home, my odometer read
60
So I went inside and had this:
Today was chore day. I replaced a light bulb in a ceiling light. I researched 529 account reimbursements. I made two trips to the hardware store for a toilet repair that didn’t take. I ordered the proper toilet part online. I went to Home Despot for weed whacker twine. I repaired my Carradice Burley saddle bag.
When I got home I locked the car and put my purchases away. Then I realized that the key that I used to lock the car was not in my pocket. It was nowhere. I retraced my steps. Again. And again. And again. No keys.
I asked my wife and daughter where the spare key was. It was with our son. In Thailand. I am not making this up.
I searched the target area like I was looking for a downed aircraft at sea. No luck.
Finally, I decided the key had to still be in the car. I called a locksmith. He came withing the hour. He pried a gap in the door. Then he inserted a bladder and inflated it. This created enough space for him to insert his magic door opening tool. He had the door opened in two minutes.
I looked through the car. High and low. No key. And the alarm went off. We’re havin’ fun now.
After five minutes which seemed like an eternity, the alarm stopped.
I retraced my steps. On my hands and knees. No key.
I opened the car door to do another search. The alarm went off again. F meeee!
The last time I felt this bewildered about a car was when my car was stolen from a dirt parking lot near L’Enfant Plaza where I used to work. (The lot is now filled with expensive town homes.) Did I park it somewhere else in the lot? Did I leave the door opened? Was I losing my mind?
Nope. My car was swiped.
Over the next few days I looked for it. I rode my bike through the parking lots at National Airport, the perfect place to drop a hot car. No luck.
The car finally showed up in a townhouse development in Franconia VA.
Nothing makes you fell like your mind is broken than something utterly unexpected happening. Like losing your keys. Or having your car stolen. Or, not to be too morbid, when someone you know dies for some completely random reason.
I have contacted my son to send us his car key. Tomorrow, weather permitting, I am renting a metal detector. I am not losing my mind.
Yet.
UPDATE
My wife came home and did another search. She found the damned key.
She asked me “Where do Alzheimer’s patients lose their keys?” The answer is in the freezer.
She pointed to our refrigerator. I opened the door and there was the key.
I laughed my ass off.
Then, she told me she actually found the key in the grass near the front door to the house.
I’ve been punked.
But I’m so glad we found the key.
My round trip normal bike commute is about 29 miles give or take an odometer and depending on my route. This isn’t the longest bike commute in the DMV (that’s local hipster speak for the DC area) but it’s plenty long if you are 60 years old. Trust me. Not that I’d ever own up to being 60 (unless it gets me a pity discount, then I’m nearly 61).
Today’s bike commute was only 4 1/2 miles. No, I didn’t move and, no, my office didn’t send me to work at the strip mall near my house. Today I took my daughter’s car to the mechanic for its 5,000 mile/2-year oil change. Basically, the car has been a curb ornament since we bought it. She was studying abroad for a year and Delta charges a fortune for small Subarus.
I drove her car to my mechanic in North Arlington, about 2 miles from work. Little Nellie was in the trunk. (Don’t you think “boot” is a better word than “trunk”?) After dropping the car off I took to the mean streets so that I could follow an unprotected bike lane all the way to my office. About 1/2 mile into this trek, I ran into (figuratively of course) Elizabeth who works for Arlington County in some sort of transit promo capacity. She is a bike commuter with a sewing habit. She writes about both in her blog She’s infinitely more creative than me.
(Digression No. 1: Despite the fact that her blog title uses the name Lizzie, Elizabeth prefers not to be called Liz or Lizzie. She goes by Elizabeth. Which is only mildly confusing since there is a Friday Coffee Clubber named Elisabeth who goes by Lis. My fusiform gyrus hurts.)
(Digression No. 2: I should clarify that I took my daughter’s car to my mechanic not Elizabeth’s husband. She calls him “The Mechanic.” I don’t know if this is because he can fix things or because he looks like Charles Bronson. )
Elizabeth she works a couple of blocks uphill from my office so I did her regular commute with her. We talked a bit, as much as you can while dodging big metal things. Along the way, I was cut off four times my cars veering to or turning to the right across the bike lane. None of the four signaled. (Later, while driving home a driver with Massachusetts vanity plates – a sure sign of a Masshole – veered into my lane. I happened to be in the space he was veering into so I was forced into the oncoming travel lane. I’ll keep my bike commute, thank you very much.) This was very unSwedish of them.
On my return trip to the mechanic, I chose to ride through the Intersection of Doom and take the Custis Trail rather than deal with the more direct route on Arlington’s streets. I did return to the streets for about a mile. A block from the mechanic’s I had to bail onto the sidewalk because a shuttle bus and a Honda SUV had made contact. The shuttle bus won. No one was hurt.
Tomorrow, I go back to the 29-mile grind. I won’t be seeing Elizabeth but with any sort of luck I’ll see one of my regulars: Chris M. or Lawyer Mike or Bob-Don’t-Call-Me-Rachel or Running Mom or the Trash Walker or The Hoppy Runner or the Three Step Runner or maybe even Nancy One-Shed Duley.
One day when I was in college, I drove my older brother around in a car. He was (and is still, for all I know) a skilled photographer. As he took pictures, I remarked again and again, “Why are you wasting film on that?” His answer was that what seems mundane to me may be fascinating to a photographer. “A photographer views his world differently,” he said. I didn’t really understand him.
Fast forward to about ten years ago. My eyesight was terrible. I had had two surgeries to repair a detached retina in my left eye. The result was that the vision from my left eye was blurry and far more nearsighted than my right. Given that my vision in my right eye was something like 20/400 this was a significant problem. To make matters worse, my post-surgery vision while passable was also severely deficient in depth perception. (Before the retina detachment, while wearing my glasses, I could see well enough to hit medium speed pitches at the local batting cages. After, I couldn’t put the bat on the ball if my life depended on it. Was I low, high, early, late? I just could not tell.)
Then I got lucky. I got cataracts.
Before the surgery my lenses were cloudy. This made it very hard to see at night and put a yellowish tinge on everything I saw. The surgery (which takes ten minutes per eye under light sedation) involves removing your lens (one eye at a time) and replacing it with a man-made lens. Since your lens is being replaced, you can replace it with a lens of a different power. So a more powerful corrective lens went in my bad, left eye than the lens lens that went into my right eye. The result was literally awesome.
(Digression: my father was an ophthalmologist. Often when walking in a shopping mall or other public place, someone would walk up to him and thank him profusely. I thought these people were bonkers, but now I had a first hand understanding of where they were coming from.)
The replacement lenses got me to 20/100 or so in both eyes so I still wear glasses, but my fully corrected vision is, well, eye opening.
One day, after getting my new glasses, I was standing in the opening to my shed facing the yard. A passing shower was dropping rain on my back yard but half the sky was clear allowing the evening sun to strike the raindrops at an angle. My new eyes saw these raindrops as shining silver droplets; they seemed like tinsel falling through the air. I had never seen anything like it.
Normally, when we move through a landscape we focus broadly. We see everything as a whole. We correctly perceive ourselves passing through the landscape as things we see leave our focus and move behind us.
Lately while riding my bike I’ve started playing with how my eyes focus on the world I am passing through. I pick out an object like an tree limb overhanging the trail and focus my attention on it. This causes the limb to take on a separate p
lace in the visual field, not unlike the 3-D effect of a Viewmaster. The rest of my visual field is slightly out of focus. I notice that when I do this eye trick as I ride, it seems like the landscape is moving and I am staying still. As if, the landscape is moving through me.
My commute is really beautiful, but I have ridden the Mount Vernon Trail to and from DC several thousand times. I can practically ride it with my eyes closed. Now, however, my little perception experiment is opening my eyes to an entirely different perspective.
I can’t help but wonder if I would have been able to pull off this visual stunt with normal, healthy eyes.
One life, some bicycles. A million possibilities, zero clue!
Information and news from David Goodrich, author of A Hole in the Wind.
Coast-to-coast US bike tour
Exploring Nevada's backroads by bicycle
Just another manifestation of my obsession with riding
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Follow my Journey!
just a girl on a mission to pet every puppy in the world. #stillatourist
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The Weston Front - the destination of a road less travelled...
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Riding the South Coast of Massachusetts and Rhode Island
Welcome To My Adventures
A Few Spokes Shy of a Wheel 