Bike to Work Day 2016

I did not feel very good when I woke up but I decided to ride to work anyway. It was Bike to Work Day, after all. Slowly.

I poked along, coughing fits one mile, calm breathing the next. I rolled into the Alexandria Pir Stop at City Hall Plaza in Old Town. I saw Reba, Ed #1, and Kathy chatting and took their picture. Jonathan was reading off raffle winners. And Reba won something, something

26853838620_69404e4fd0_m — Ed, Reba, and Kathy

Monaco. Holy cow! Then we heard him repeat the prize: one night at the Hotel Monaco in Old Town. So Reba’s dreams of being a Bond girl went up in smoke. Truth be told, it’s a pretty darn nice prize.

Onward to Rosslyn. I was a bit surprised that the bike commuter traffic was so normal. Then at the north end of Old Town, I convoy of women on bikes, suspiciously without panniers or backpacks made a turn across my path. I followed them. In the course of a short conversation with one of the riders, I learned it was a tour group of ten women, aged 50 and above, who started riding in St. Augustine, Florida. They were taking a couple of rest days to see the DC sights before continuing on: destination Bar Harbor, Maine. They were traveling with a company called Women Tours.

Soon they left me behind and I continued northward. On one of the flyover bridges at National Airport an on coming cyclists caught my eye. Short blazing red hair and distinctive panniers with a pattern on them and pronounced handles sticking straight up. It was Ultrarunnergirl, who never seems to come to Virginia on her bike. I started waving like and idiot and she went to give me a high five but, me having absolutely no cool, didn’t even make a decent attempt.

Fail.

On I rode to Rosslyn as the volume of bike commuters picked up (i.e. blew by me). Two Lance Mamilots came roaring down the trail swerving among the bike commuters, many of whom may have been first timers. My only words to the Lances is that you are self absorb asses and it’s riders like you that put off people who want to ride to work safely.

I somehow made it up the Rosslyn hill into the Rosslyn pit stop. There I ran I

nto WABA‘s Nelle (she’s the awesome Deputy Director) and ever jovial Dana who gave me my BTWD shirt. I won a water bottle then grabbed another from a couple of other tables. One was from Bruce Deming who specializes in personal injury cases involving bicyclists. I talked about two cases involving contributory negligence, one that allowed the victim to make a claim, the other (a fatality) that left the victim’s survivors with nothing but memories.

I had three cups of Java Shack coffee, the first coffee I had had since Sunday. They made me feel euphoric. I rode the sidewalk to the office and in my hyper attentive state avoided being hit by a red light runner at 19th and Lynn. I yelled at him to no avail.

The bike room at work had 2 bikes when I arrived. Lame. Two co-workers came in a few minutes later, but didn’t sign up for Bike to Work Day. Seriously. If free and convenient is not enough, I don’t know what is.

At 11 am the coffee wore off and I powered down like the robot on Lost in Space. Thud. Another cup had little effect. Lunch revived me somewhat and, after work, I headed to NE DC to pick up my packet for Sunday’s DC Bike Ride. I met Ed #1 again. He gets around. Then Nelle, again. We’ve run into each other four times in the last two weeks. People are starting to talk. (“Nelle, who is that creepy old dude?” People can be mean.)

I ran into Charmaine who I haven’t seen since our North Carolina bike adventure two years ago. We sat and chatted for over a half hour allowing me to recover from the 18 or so miles I had already ridden.

I also briefly ran into Ed #2, and Ted and Jean, who are Friday Coffee Clubbers.

I had a token for a free beer but nobody wanted it, even a stranger I approached. All my beer drinking #bikedc friends were probably at BTWD happy hours.

I left at 6:30 headed for home, deliberately going so slow I was annoying myself. I made it home after 8 pm through dozens of clouds of midges. I was covered with the darn things.

Tomorrow I get up and work the East Beer booth at the Tour de Fat event. Unfortunately the weather forecast calls for rain. I will do my best to present a cheery face. Instead of riding to the event, I’ll be driving to my wife’s office a mile away and ride from there.

Super big thanks to all the people who got up early and worked on behalf of #bikedc. You done good. Special thanks to Nelle who put in a monster day, working two events.

Bike to Work Week: 0-4

I feel completely pathetic. I thought for sure I’d feel up to riding to work today. Last night at 4 I felt great. So great in fact that I went to the Tour de Fat Volunteers Party. I hung out with a bunch of friends and drank a few beers, staying with the lowest alcohol ones on the menu.

When I got home I watched the end of the Nats game (We win!) and went to bed. I felt totally fine.

I woke up feeling like I had regressed a day. So I worked from home, spending half the day on the deck with my assistant who I found hiding in the deck umbrella:

At 5 I rode Little Nellie to the hardware and drug stores. Seed for the birds and a rinse gizmo for my sinuses. The ride there was a bit of a slog. The ride home was nearly normal, until I got to the slight up-slope on my front long and my legs said “Nope. Not gonna happen.” I’ll have to keep this in mind for my ascent of Mt. Rosslyn in the morning.

I don’t care what I feel like tomorrow. I will ride to work. After work I’ll ride to pick up my packet for Sunday’s DCBikeRide. On Saturday I am volunteering at the Tour de Fat event. The weather forecast calls for cold rain all day. My only concession to the rain will be that I’ll drive to someplace near DC and bike to the event from there. Same goes for Sunday.

My Brain’s Infected, I Swear

I had difficulty sleeping last night. The antibiotics are taking their time to kick in. Coughing and blowing my nose was the rule of the wee morning hours. Finally I got out of bed, if only to give Mrs. Rootchopper some peace. I ended up in my comfy chair and was soon fast asleep for four hours.

Feeling okay, I asked to be allowed to work from home. Then I made breakfast. Cereal. Man, this tastes funny. These meds are messing with my sense of taste. Needing calories, I ate the whole thing. A few hours later, I checked the milk. Ten days past its sell date and sour.

Later in the day I exchanged emails with my friend Katie, who is a pretty strict vegan. We are both volunteering for Tour de Fat on Saturday. It’s an outdoor fundraiser for local bike advocacy groups.The forecast is calling for cold rain. I told Katie to wear wool.

The infection has done spread to my brain, Augustus. I swear.

Day 3 -Sleep, Drugs Repeat

Since I nearly died (or didn’t as the case may be), I have been taking sick days from work. So far just Monday and Tuesday. I briefly considered working from home today. Then, after taking my meds, I sat down in my comfy chair and fell asleep until noon. I woke up with a “where am I” feeling. Groggy.

I am currently taking a cocktail of medications. Prescription strength doses of Advil for pain, Advair for my asthma, Flonase for my sinuses, Zithromax for the infection, albuterol to quiet my airways.

I am coughing a lot and, for the first time in a week, mucus is coming up (sorry, gross!). Unlike last week, it’s dark, a telltale sign of infection. I am hoping to be well enough to get on my bike tomorrow and ride to work but my rule is if I am too sick to ride, I am too sick to be in the office. Taking two sick days in a row is extremely rare and messes with my pride.

The ER doctor and the EMTs both remarked on my cardiovascular condition. I imagine most overweight 60 year olds with a lung infection on top of asthma are a real mess. My vitals signs, despite my obvious physical distress were normal. (“We have a boring patient in bay 13.”) Actually, they are normal for an average bloke; both my blood pressure and my pulse were on the high side for me. (My dad was a physician. He did my pre-grad school physical one year. He took my pulse three times. Each time he got 48. I had to explain to him that running does that.)

So athletic friends it’s a good idea to tell you doctor that you bike or run or hike a whole bunch.

On second thought, I probably carried this infection for quiet a while and my strong heart and lungs compensated for it. Sunday night they raised the white flag and I went down for a nine count.

I never lost consciousness. The pain never went anywhere near my heart. In fact, the pain has all but disappeared now.

So I am going to curl up with a soft pillow and a snuggie and “enjoy” my sick day. And if you think for one minute that I am not riding on Bike to Work Day, you’re nuts. Gonna get it done.

My apologies to my kids overseas for posting ER pictures on social media and freaking them out. Now you know a little bit of what it’s like to be a parent.

My extreme thanks to all those of you who have sent me good wishes on social media. For those of you who have my phone number, please don’t call. I need to sleep.

And to all of you, get out there and ride. It’s Bike to Work Week!

Anytime

“I could go at anytime. There’s nothing safe about this life.” (Neil Finn, Anytime).

After yesterday’s sight seeing ride, I spent about two hours on the deck in the sun. Then I went to a concert at the Birchmere. Sweet Honey in the Rock was very entertaining. Four vocalists and an ASL singer with a bassist in the background. I say ASL singer because she was an integral part of the performance. At one point she signed a duet with a vocalist. It was really fascinating and a blast to watch. There seemed to be several deaf people in the audience and lots of deaf clapping at the end of songs.

We arrived home at 10. As I readied for bed I felt kind of worn out from being in the sun and the concert. I went to bed and couldn’t get comfortable. At about 1 am, I had a sharp pain in my upper right chest when I rolled over. For 15 minutes I waited, breathed as calmly as I could, and hoped it would go away. No luck.

I have had bronchitis – by my own diagnosis – for weeks and when I started to cough the dagger pain in my chest got much worse. Since I couldn’t sleep, I got out of bed and did the Sunday crossword .When I stood up afterwards, the pain came back. I googled “heart attack symptoms.” I didn’t seem to be having one but there are always tales of heart attacks that defy the norms. I recalled how a former co-worker of mine ignored his chest pain and flew to a conference. He deplaned to transfer at an airport in North Carolina. He didn’t make the connecting flight.

I took three baby aspirin, waited another 20 minutes, then went back to bed. Then the daggers came back in waves as I tried to lie down. My mind raced. I have so many things on tap for the next three weeks! This can’t be happening! The google search said, “Don’t drive to the ER. Call 911. That will get you immediate care and let you skip the screening at the ER desk.”

This last dagger caused me to yelp. Mrs. Rootchopper immediately awoke (how she slept through the earlier bits I’ll never know). Rolled over and called 911. I dressed and went downstairs. As I was putting on my sandals, the EMTs arrived in 2 – 3 minutes. It pays to live a half mile from the fire station.

Once in the ambulance I was poked and cuffed and scanned. My brain started recalling the near panic attack I had the only other time I rode in an ambulance. I felt like the world was spinning out of control.

“Everything is in the balance of a moment I can’t control.” (Neil Finn, Anytime).

I felt like crying, then I took a couple of deep breaths and calmed down. This is the best place in the world for me at this moment. Just go with it. For the rest of the ride I was joking with the crew.

At the ER (Inova Mount Vernon Hospital) I was given a second EKG (the EMTs gave me one on the way). I had blood drawn. The news was that I had no sign of a heart attack or pneumonia. In fact my cardio vascular signs were pretty darn good. My white blood cell level was elevated and it was obvious that I was breathing and talking softly. The diagnosis was that one of my coughing fits caused an internal injury and that my bronchitis, as long lasting as it has been, was probably caused by an infection. I was hooked up to a nebulizer which made my lungs feel great. Then sent home with only minor lingering discomfort.
I took three Advils for breakfast and fell sound asleep at 7 am. Four hours later I woke up and got out of bed without the daggers. I ate some antibiotics and some healthful donuts.

So began Bike to Work Week with a DNS (did not start) on my dance card. At least I missed out on the near-record low temperatures and biting headwind.

“Fear is so contagious, but I’m not afraid to laugh.” (Neil Finn, Anytime).

Sunday Sight Seeing on the Mount Vernon Trail

On Sunday, two friends from my grad school days came over for brunch. Matt is not athletic. Mike is. Mike was going stir crazy staying with Matt so we agreed that I would take Mike for a bike ride after brunch. Fortunately, Mike is exactly my size so The Mule fit him. I rode my Cross Check.

Mike has a yard sale bike at home in Providence that he rides religiously once or twice a year. So I set a gentle pace. We did a tour of the Mount Vernon Trail bald eagle nests. Along the way Mike told me about how he recently used CitiBikes to ride around New York City. He said he would never have ridden a bike except for the fact that there are separate dedicated bike lanes. He felt totally safe. Mike should be the poster boy for urban bike infrastructure.

We made it to the Belle Haven nest but saw no eagles. As we rode further Mike told me about the East Bay Bike Trail in Rhode Island. He loves it. I ran this once when it was a railroad line back in 1980 or 1981. It really sounds fantastic but Mike was annoyed that it wasn’t wide enough. Soon we entered Jones Point Park Mike was shocked to see a separate walking lane. (I didn’t have the heart to tell him that most walkers ignore it.)

Under the giant bridge and into Old Town. Then we took the Wilkes Street tunnel and Royal Street back to the Mount Vernon Trail. Continuing south we stopped at the Tulane nest. I could barely make it out with binoculars amid the dense foliage. Mike never saw it. Onward to the osprey (or maybe bald eagle nest) at the fishing hole. No birds, nice view.

Our next stop was the Morningside Nest which I couldn’t find at all amid the leaves. My bald eagle nest tour was becoming a bust.

We continued down the trail to Fort Hunt Park, stopping to admire Fort Washington on the opposite side of the Potomac River. We did a lap in the park then headed for Mount Vernon. About a half mile from the park I pulled over for one more bald eagle nest. I just could not find it. As I was giving up, I looked up and there it was, right out in the open. Easily the biggest nest of all. Mike saw it too. And just as he focused on it, an eagle flew down and into it. The nest, or actually the outside structure of the nest, is so big that the bird just vanished. I could occasionally spot the bird’s head bopping up and down, probably feeding an eaglet. As we were watching the nest, a second bald eagle flew in circles overhead. Woot!

We started talking with a couple who were walking their dog. Just as we were about to leave they spotted a bizarre looking naval vessel making good time on the river heading toward DC. It had a sort of dazzle camouflage on its sides. Very cool.

I took Mike up to Mount Vernon. He did not much a
ppreciate the last hill. After a brief rest, we continued beyond the estate for a photo op before heading back home.

23 1/2 miles, 1 strange boat, 2 bald eagles.Not bad for a lazy Sunday.

After he left things got at tad more interesting, but that’s a tale for another post….

A Hoot of a Day

With a guest coming over on Sunday, I was hoping to take in a Nationals baseball game on Saturday. The forecasts was for rain in the afternoon during the first of two games. After the rain the forecast predicted a decline in temperatures. Not exactly great weather for watching a baseball games.

I rode Little Nellie to work wearing shorts. It was not raining. Yesm this is worth noting because it has rained here in DC for 15 consecutive days. The incessant gloom has really become annoying.

After keeping an eye of the Saturday forecast, I decided not to chance it and, just after lunch, bought a ticket for Friday night’s game.

I rode the nearly six miles to the ballpark. I left at 5 so that I could eat dinner at the park during batting practice. There were no lines for food and I found a perch in dead center field. Somebody from the Miami Marlins was hitting cannon shots deep into the stands in front of me. Lordy, these guys can hit. I hung around hoping to run into someone I know. That didn’t happen so I took my seat for the second time this year in section 223.

You take your chances when you go to a ball game. Sometimes the people around you are fun; other times you get jerks. This night was a mixed bag. To my left were a young mom and dad with a four year old daughter and under one year old son in tow. The daughter had long curly red hair and freckles. The son was beyond cute, watching everything around him with big, unblinking eyes and clapping rather incompetently with his tiny hands.

The man sitting behind me was explaining the nuances, every single one, of the game to someone sitting next to him. It was like being at a movie with an interpreter for the blind. I appreciated what he was doing but it was way too much information.

The game was quite fun with the Nationals hitting two pinch hit home runs and fielding incompetently. My favorite moment of the game came when Bryce Harper came to bat with Anthony Rendon on first base. The game was tied. The preferred strategy of dealing with Harper is to walk him. In the process, if you are careful, you can try to get him to chase bad pitches, preferably really low ones that are difficult to hit far. After giving signs for each pitch, the catcher positioned his mitt so that it was touching the ground. Rendon saw this and hoped that the pitcher would throw a ball in the dirt allowing Rendon to take second base. This happened once but the catcher controlled the ball and Rendon had to stay at first. The next time they tried this, the pitch wasn’t quite as low as planned. Harper clobbered it into the stands in right field. Erp.

The family left. Soon I noticed that the two men about 55 – 60 years of age sitting in front of me were talking politics. The more man on the right drank the louder he talked. Man on the left seemed like he was trying to listen while actually paying attention to the game. This went on for the last four innings. The more Right Man drank the more he ignored the game. He wasn’t drunk, he just clearly didn’t care about the game. It’s the second time I’ve been to a Nationals game where someone sitting next to me talked business on and on and on. When the batter came up with 2 out in the 9th inning, fans througout the park stood in anticipation of celebrating the last out and a win. Right man sat in his seat. Dude, next time save $35 and stay home. For the rest of us.

On the way out of the park, I was checking out the signs above the food concessions when I found myself falling hard to the concrete floor.I had tripped over a 3 foot black post, the kind that holds the ropes that make the queue for the concessions. They take the ropes off and the posts are remain. In an case, I found myself on the ground with hundreds of people nearby and all I could think of was “What the hell hit me?”

I gathered my wits and stood up. Someone handed me my cell phone. I limped out of the park to the bike valet. The 16 mile ride home was not going to be fun.

During the game I tweeted with my friends Katie and Ursula. They were sitting in different sections of the park above me. I was hoping to run into them on the way out. I didn’t but I did run into Mike, a randonneur, tandem rider, and head of the Rootchopper Fan Club. He thinks the name Rootchopper is hilarious. Actually, he thinks a lot of things are hilarious. We should all bring so much joy to the mundane things in life.

We chatted briefly and agreed to take in a game later in the summer. I can’t wait.

I was expecting the ride home to be painful but once I got to pedaling my banged up left knee felt fine. As I cruised down the I Street bike lane, I came to a light about to turn red. A cab turned right across my path. No wonder so many of my friends get hit riding in the city. The cab wasn’t going fast it was just unpredictable. I managed to avoid hitting it but expressed my displeasure with a few choice four letter words.

In a couple more miles, I was free of the city and ball park traffic. The Mount Vernon Trail is unlit. And it was DARK. I was alone. Just me and my bike and my lights. Just following the big white circle. The temperature was in the mid 60s. I reminded myself to keep my mouth closed to avoid swallowing swarms of tiny flying bugs that I rode through at irregular intervals.

All alone but for the sounds and sights and smells of the spring night. Take it in. Appreciate every second of it. When I smelled a skunk I kept my head pointing forward so as to avoid spotlighting Pepe LePew.

I rolled through Old Town Alexandria with its abundance of bars and restaurants. I assumed each car was piloted by a drunk driver. I made it to through without becoming a hood ornament or a statistic.

The underside of the Woodrow Wilson Bridge is in Jones Point Park. The bridge loomed ominously in the dark as I approached. The path traces an “S” as it passes under the bridge. I ride this nearly every day but it seemed unfamiliar. I recalled the last few times I rode under the bridge that a homeless man camps out on the path as it heads toward Washington Street. Sure enough, there he was covered in a dark blanket and wearing dark clothing. I gave him a wide berth. Why he doesn’t plop himself down in the abundant empty space elsewhere in the park is beyond me.

South of the Beltway the car headlights blinded me off and on. I looked for wild life. Nothing but those pesky swarms of tiny bugs. My arms were covered with them.They don’t bite so I left them alone.

Just south of Dyke Marsh, off to my left in the woods near the river, I heard the hoot of an owl. Welcome to the night, bicycle rider. He hooted again. The perfect aural ending to a long day. I arrived at home 10 minutes after midnight.

Riding at night to the ball game and down the Mount Vernon Trail is a hoot.

Trail Crime

In recent years, the Mount Vernon Trail has been a low crime area. In the last year there was a report of a sexual assault (a groping from which the victim escaped) north of Old Town Alexandria. There is the occasional disturbed person who yells at trail users. Local law enforcement and the National Park Service which owns the trail have generally been responsive to reports of crimes, regardless of their nature.

Mostly the trail attracts helpful people like the Trash Walker. He’s a senior citizen who walks in the morning and picks up litter as he goes.

Last night, someone smashed a couple of park benches to bits. This incident occurred between National Airport and Slaters Lane, north of Old Town. Whoever did it exerted some serious energy, probably jumping up and down on the seats. It’s not the end of the world but I hope there isn’t more of this sort of thing.

Yet Another Reason Why I Bike to Work

I love spring around here. This was taken about a mile from work on the Mount Vernon Trail along the Potomac River. This little guy was the only gosling. Yesterday, we saw seven in one gaggle. Mom and Dad were staying very close by. I was surprised that they let me get close enough for a smartphone picture. On the way home one of the adult geese was trying to scare passing bicyclists away by waddling to the edge of the trail and opening its mouth in a threatening manner. No noise came out. It was rather pathetic. A few seconds after I survived this fierce “attack” a young woman rode by and turned to me laughing and said: “That mama goose came after me!!!” Wanna bet she keeps bike commuting?

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There Is No I in This Nelle

There’s Big Nellie. There’s Little Nellie. Then there’s Nelle. No big. No little. All awesome.

Nelle tweeted that she was riding to Jones Point Park to check out the Washington Area Bicyclist Association’s bike class for adults. I’d was looking for an excuse to go for a short ride so I thought I check this out.

I rode to the Park. The bike class is held underneath the Woodrow Wilson Bridge. It’s a paved parking lot that nobody uses for parking. Seeing as how you can’t park there, you might just as well learn stuff there. There are sword fighting classes, intense fitness classes, little kids’ bike classes, and, now, bike classes for grown ups.

The bridge is about 5 – 5 1/2 miles from my house. When I was about 100 yards away, I realized that I had left my lock at home. I swung by the class to check it out. Nelle wasn’t there and the instructors were much to busy getting their students set up to ride, so I figured I’d go back home. I took a hilly route just for variety’s sake. The 10 1/2 round trip was uneventful. It would have been eventful but for the fact that I biked past my friend Lisa who was walking a dog near Belle Haven Park.

Once back at the class I found Nelle who was talking to WABA member named Dave. Dave supports the classes out of enlightened self interest. He figures that the more people we get riding in Alexandria (the city abutting the park and Dave’s town of residence), the better biking will be for everyone in Alexandria, Dave included.

Jason also showed up. He’s a former WABA trail ranger who had ridden down from North Arlington. After talking a while, Nelle got the idea of riding back to DC by way of the Wilson Bridge. Jason and I decided to ride with her.

We crossed the bridge on the busy side path. On the Maryland side we enjoyed riding the corkscrew trail down to the river’s edge. We took a left up Harborside Avenue and began the long ride up to Oxon HIll Road. I had plenty of time to check out the new casino being built. It’s huge. I said the ride was up a long hill but Nelle didn’t seem to notice. She was nice enough to wait for Jason who was not far behind and me who was waaaaaay behind.

Apparently, this hill is Oxon Hill because the road at the top is called Oxon Hill Road. Recently MDOT completely redid Oxon Hill Road so I led a tour of the improvements. Prior to these changes Oxon Hill Road was a lousy place to ride a bike. No bike lanes, broken pavement, heavy traffic going too fast, etc. Now there are bike lanes, sometimes protected from other traffic by an island. Also there were three roundabouts which did a nifty job of calming traffic. I took Nelle and Jason to near the start of the Matthew Henson Trail. This paved trail goes through the woods and some fields. It doesn’t seem to connect to much but thought it would be good for Nelle to know where it was in case she encountered it at work somehow.

We took Fort Foote Road back about half way to where we started on Oxon Hill Road. It’s an uninspiring suburban street that has much less traffic that Oxon Hill Road. Nelle was interested in Fort Foote but I checked it out and there’s nothing much to see anymore.

Back on Oxon Hill Road we headed for Oxon Hill Farm. The bike connection to the farm requires some idiotic sidewalk riding but being idiots we found it easy to navigate. The route through the farm goes down a steep, bumpy, windy road. There are deer and wild turkey in the woods along the descent but not today. We hooked up with Oxon Hill Farm Trail and rode it along Oxon Cove. At the bridge over Oxon Creek we stopped so that Nelle could eat one of her anabolic steroid chews. She said it was a chewy candy snack. After seeing her fly up Harborview Avenue, I have my doubts.

We checked out some Canada geese goslings and a swimming snake in the creek then headed into the corner of SE DC. Here near the police academy we admired the creepy Guns to Ploughshares sculpture, made from guns that DC police had taken off the streets back in the days when DC was the murder capital of the US. Chris Roell who runs the weekly BicycleSpace ride in Anacostia appeared out of nowhere to tell us about the sculpture and Anacostia. He explained that the sculpture was once located in downtown DC. Just the thing for tourists, right. DC thought better of it and moved it to its current location. We thanked Chris and his riding partner Sara (I think. My fusiform gyrus is still messed up.) and headed on to Anacostia.

We climbed a steep hill to Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard. I climbed it. Jason rode up it numbly. Nelle took it like it wasn’t there. (Sugar candies, my ass.)

Once on MLK we rode through depressingly down trodden neighborhoods. There was plenty of car and bus traffic and a bumpy road surface just to keep things interesting. At one point Nelle got impatient with a car that was blocking her way. She hopped off her bike, picked the car up, and tossed it aside. Sugar candies. (Okay, I made that up.)

We crossed over the 11th Street Bridge and stayed on 11th through Capitol Hill. Mass Ave to us to a little grocery store where we bought cookies. Jason bought a black and white. I bought a chocolate chip. Nelle bought a BALCO sugar cookie. (Would I lie?)

Nelle led us through Columbus Circle in front of Union Station. What an insane mess of traffic. Our reward was the 1st Street cycletrack, a protected two-way bike lane painted lime green. The cycletrack took us to the Metropolitan Branch Trail. Once on the MBT the BALCO cookie must have been metabolized and Nelle flew up the trail. She confessed earlier that she is worried that she might not be in good enough shape to do the four day Climate Ride from New York City to DC in September. Not gonna be a problem lady.

At R Street Nelle continued on the MBT while Jason and I headed across town on the R Street bike lane. At 15th I said goodbye to Jason and headed up the cycletrack to Meridian Hill Park. This involved another tough climb. I was rewarded with a park bench and a sammich I bought back at the cookie stop. The park was packed with people. Usually people are playing frisbee, using hula hoops, doing acroyoga, slacklining and such. Today people were sitting around chatting, reading or just catching some rays.

After eating I headed down 16th Street to the White House, then around the Treasury Building, passed the Washington Monument and the Jefferson Memorial and over the Potomac River on the 14th Street Bridge.

The weather was perfect but for a strong gusty wind and so much pollen that my eyes felt like they were filled with sand. Once across the river, the wind was at my back. I had a nice push for the last 12 miles home.

So my short ride turned out to be 59 hilly, windy miles. Thanks to Jason for the company. Thanks to Nelle, who despite many opportunities to do so, did not drop me. Proving there is no I in this Nelle.

Here are some more pix.

	Jim on Green thumb? Not me.
	Rootchopper on Bike to Blood Day
	Rootchopper on Bike to Blood Day
	halffastcyclingclub on Bike to Blood Day
	halffastcyclingclub on Bike to Blood Day