Category: #bikedc

Miscellaneous Bikeless Sunday

It was a rather peripatetic Sunday at the Rootchopper Institute. Yesterday, winter returned with the biggest snowflakes I think I’ve ever seen. It was a clumpy dusting if that makes any sense.

Mrs. Rootchopper and I spent few hours playing house tetris. It’s really fun. You move your belongings out of the top two levels of your house into the bottom two levels so that the moving company can take on all the really heavy stuff tomorrow. Then the floor refinishers come in to do their thing for the rest of the week.

After the tetris was finished, I mowed the lawn in shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt despite the fact that it was a breezy 45 degrees outside. I simply refuse to give in to the idea that it’s still this cold outside.

Next up was watching the Nats game on TV. I could have gone to the game but nothing says misery quite like watching baseball and freezing your ass off. With the score tied, the cable company inexplicably started showing a cooking show for kids. This was followed by a PSA featuring realistic looking gangbangers. Yes, junior, finish off that banana oatmeal bread that we made from scratch while we watch these homies shoot up.

Finally, after the Nats had taken a three-run lead, the game came back on.

The Nats won 4-2 so I headed over to Huntley Meadows Park to check out the wetlands.  Huntley Meadows consists of over 1,500 acres situated in the Hybla Valley. The rest of Hybla Valley is suburban sprawl. It is bounded to the northeast by Beacon Hill. All the nasty stuff that comes off our cars or is sprayed on our roads of is spread on our lawns drains into these wetlands which act as a filter for the Potomac River. This sounds gross, I know, but the park is really just woods and a swamp. What’s coolest about Huntley Meadows is that it is never the same as the last time you went. It used to be that the wetlands were maintained by deliberate human intervention. Nowadays, it seems that the humans have backed off and let nature take over.

Today, the park was dotted with beaver lodges. One of them was actually built into the boardwalk that goes out into the swamp. Another seemed to tower five feet above the waterline. I could clearly see beaver dams in various places and the high water that was building behind them. Canada geese, coots, and a couple of great blue herons were visible. Soon there will be turtles and snakes and other critters. The only downside to the park is that it is becoming increasingly popular. Ten years ago I could walk the two-mile trail and see only a couple of people. I probably saw 20 or 30 today.

When I came back home, I turned on the TV. The Nats came was being shown again. As luck would have it, I got to watch the part of the game I missed. We still won.

Tomorrow is an off day so that I can supervise the moving crew. In about a week we get to play house tetris in reverse. If you are nice, you can come over an play. It’s fun. Really.

Time to go take some pain killers and muscle relaxants.

Here are some pix from the park.

 

 

Three Little Things

Thing One

The last few days have had some interesting moments. The other day I was riding Little Nellie to work. I didn’t feel so well but I had to go to work so that I could go to see Santana in DC with Mrs. Rootchopper. (It’s her real name. I swear!)

About 2 1/2 miles from home, I drop down a steep hill. I can easily hit 30 miles per hour on this one. After that I have about 1/2 mile to go before I come to the crossing of the busy George Washington Parkway. Car and bus commuters use the same intersection. The car commuters generally are turning north to head to Alexandria and DC and the bus commuters are crossing to catch the north-bound bus.

The cars queue up, often ten deep. I suppose I could join the line, but typically I ride carefully past the cars on their left hand side. On this day I saw that there was ample space between the edge of the road and the left hand side of the cars so I decided to squeeze by them to the right. This is not a good idea. I noticed a passenger side door crack open and hit my brakes. I came to a stop at the rear fender of the car just as the shotgun seat passenger hopped out right into my line of travel. He was getting out to run for the bus. I may have yelled something. He looked at me and said “sorry” as he closed the door on his back to let me pass unharmed.

My brain went into immediate aggressive mode and I barked some angry words back at him as I rode by. After about three minutes and well beyond the crossing, I realized that he was actually not at fault. Anytime you squeeze by a car on the passenger side, you are asking to get doored. This passenger had no reasonable expectation that a bike would be there.

Still I hope my harsh words will make him think twice the next time he opens a car door.

Santana was entertaining but we didn’t get on the road (with Little Nellie in the trunk of my wife’s car) until 11:30. By the time I got to bed it was clear that I was dying a slow death at the hands of the Pollen Beast.

I slept until 10 the next morning. I NEVER do this. By Friday I was back in action.

Thing Two

On my ride home last night, I diverted from Union Street, the mainline of the Mount Vernon Trail through Old Town. Instead I rode up Royal or Fairfax Street. There is a stop sign at the end of each block. There were cars and buses about so I was being careful and stopping at each stop sign. I was passed by an Alexandria City police vehicle, an SUV. I followed it up the street and watched as it rolled through two stop signs. The driver was in no hurry, he or she just did what everybody else does. My only problem is that APD goes out of its way to give tickets to cyclists who do the very same thing in Old Town. I waved a mittened hand at the cop. He waved back. Have a nice day.

Thing Three

Today is Saturday. The Nationals are scheduled for a 4 pm game. It’s April 9. And it’s snowing outside. The biggest flakes I’ve seen in a long time. And it’s sticking. And the wind is blowing. And it’s cold.

Really.

They postponed the game. I am staying inside. Until May.

 

 

Teach Your Children Well

Nelle Pearson of the Washington Area Bicyclists Association is collecting stories of parents, especially in Northern Virginia, who taught their kids how to ride a bike and didn’t have a good place to go.

I learned on a dead end street in Albany NY. There were no curbs, just lots of grass for crashing. On my first solo, I rode the length of the street and t-boned a passing car. For the record, my brother Jim, who is one year older, swears it was him who did the t-boning. Either way it was a hell of a start.

Jim and I used training wheels but my sister Margaret who is 2 1/2 years younger than I learned how to ride the hard way. While I was in school, she pushed my bike down the driveway, jumped on and rode it up the neighbor’s lawn across the street until she crashed. Then she’d get up and do it all over again. She would not be denied.

I watched a friend’s son learn to ride on a tennis court. He was determined to shed his training wheels while we were visiting. He got on, rode a few feet and crashed spectacularly. After a few sniffles, he got on again and Voila! he was free!!!

My son was another mighty determined learner. Our street is part of a loop of streets in the neighborhood connecting to a main road. The main road is a busy two-lane nightmare born of Fairfax County’s thoughtless housing policies of the 1960s – 1980s. My son stayed mostly on the sidewalk and, with supervision, in the street in front of our house. We would take him to the local school parking lot where he could ride with less precision. Finally, we took off the training wheels and ran after him as he wobbled down the middle of our street. After running ourselves ragged, we posted one parent here and the other there and, with a starting shove, he rode between us.

His first solo ride happened after he begged me to ride around the neighborhood on the sidewalk. Mom was inside so I made him promise to stop at every single driveway. He promised. Off he went. Soon he was out of view. Mom came out. “Where is he!!!!!?????” “No worries.” Minutes seemed like hours. Soon he re-appeared around the clubhouse turn. You never saw a prouder kid when he stopped in front of his mom. A few years later, on a single speed bike, he rode BikeDC (in the rain) and the Tour de Port in Baltimore with me.

My daughter wanted nothing to do with crashing. It was totally undignified and would mess up her pretty dress. At one point she was riding down the street and careened toward the curb. Down she went. She slid head first right into the storm drain. Her helmet lodged in the opening as she came to a stop. This may be why, these days her favorite bike is a Subaru.

Teaching a kid to ride a bike is one of the great joys of parenting. Here are two bits of advice.

First, my sister had the right idea. Training wheels are a waste of money and actually make learning to ride harder. Think about it. The number 1 hardest part about riding a bike is learning to balance. Training wheels defeat this. Also, with training wheels your kid has to master steering, balancing, braking and pedaling all at once. This is overload. So either get a balance bike (the kind with no pedals) or make one. Just take the pedals off your kid’s bike and push the seat way down so your kid can duck walk the bike. As he/she gets more confident raise the seat. Once they have mastered balancing, put the pedals on.  There are tons of how to videos too like this one.

My second words of advice are DO NOT TAKE YOUR KID TO THE LOCAL BIKE TRAIL!!!! I live near the Mount Vernon Trail. My kids did not ride on it until they had been riding without training wheels for two years. Bike trails are narrow. They have bridges and cross streets and trees and other obstacles. And other trails users fly by at scary speeds. Trust me, this is the last place a new bike rider wants to be. Instead, take your kid to a local school parking lot. Let him or her ride far away from any cars or other obstacles. Even better, if you live in or near Alexandria, take your kid to Jones Point Park. It’s right next to the Woodrow Wilson Bridge at the south end of Old Town. Under the bridge there is all kinds of space to ride around in circles. There is also a water fountain and a bathroom. And playgrounds nearby for when Junior has maxed out on the biking thing.

Your kid is going to crash. It’s part of the process. Kids are made of rubber. Really. They heal incredibly fast too. Back in my day we learned how to ride without helmets or pads. We did not die. Your kid won’t either. Boo boos can be treated with hugs, mom spit, bandaids, and popcicles.

If you are the kid of parent that transmits DOOM whenever your kid falls down, pay somebody to teach your kid to ride. Sounds crazy? We paid a swimming instructor to teach our kids to swim. Miss Bonnie didn’t let them drown, not even once. Your kid will survive.

I guarantee you one thing: watching your kid ride a bike on his or her own for the very first time will stick in your head for the rest of your life. It is one of life’s most joyful moments. Even without t-boning a car.

 

Opening Day Is a Tailwind

Spring is a time of optimism. Stuff is growing and blooming. The sun is high in the sky. My skin is tanned. (Okay, we’ll leave out the part about the nagging, pollen-induced cough.) With warm air coming in, I often get a tailwind for the ride to work.

I am such a sucker for a tailwind. I’ve been riding a bike for over 50 years and I still let a tailwind convince me that I am in great biking shape. What an idjit!

Opening day is a tailwind. The home team looks utterly invincible. Look at all that talent. NOBODY can beat my team.

Then they start playing and you realize that the other team can hit and pitch and field too. Soon reality creeps in. There are all sorts of unpleasant things that can happen. You are reading the words of a man whose 12th birthday coincided with the beaning of Tony Conigliaro. Ugh. It’s hard to stay in the moment when you have that hideous picture of 22 year old Tony C.’s face with a massive bruise in the form of  a baseball over his left eye.

But all is well. The Nats won. It took 10 innings but they got it done.

Opening day isn’t really about baseball. It is about optimism. It’s just going to be a great summer. I KNOW it. As I watched today’s Nats game I was giddy with the feeling that every day will be warm. There will be hikes and bike rides and summer days in the ballpark and vacations with friends and family. Life is a tailwind, baby.

The forecast for tomorrow morning calls for temperatures near freezing and a strong headwind.

Who’s in chahge of the weathah around heah? Bucky Fuckin’ Dent?

 

 

The Frozen Iceball

“Ten million years from now, when then sun burns out and the Earth is just a frozen iceball hurtling through space, nobody’s going to care whether or not I got this guy out.”

How chill is that?

These words were spoke by Tug McGraw, the best reliever in baseball for many years. He, not entirely surprisingly, threw a mean screwball. Oddly enough nobody seems to throw screwballs in baseball anymore.

I learned how to throw a screwball. You turn your hand in the opposite direction of a curveball. Which is to say, your arm goes left and your hand twists right.

My father was a big time baseball fan. Every summer his idea of a vacation was to put his seven kids in a station wagon and drive us to a major league baseball game. I saw Mickey Mantle in his decrepit last playing days in the old Yankee Stadium. I saw the Mets, well before the miracle of ’69, from the scary steep upper deck of Shea Stadium. (Truth be told, the jets flying in and out of LaGuardia were more interesting than the game.) And I saw the Montreal Expos play the San Francisco Giants in Jarry Park in Montreal. Willie Mays took the day off. Ken Henderson of the Giants hit a home run that bounced into the pool beyond the right field fence.

My father told me the Tug McGraw quote long before McGraw said it. In my father’s version, the pitcher is in a bind. He is down to his last pitch. It is either do or die. He turns to his bench and says, “Either I do, or I don’t.” And throws the pitch.

All you can do is the best that you can. And, in the final analysis we are all bozos on this bus headed further into the universe. So give it a rest. Move on. Let it go. Because, as Tripper Harrison said in Meatballs, it just doesn’t matter.

Starting Monday, there are no more ties. Play ball.

[This blog post was inspired by Norman Wilson McCloud, the designated driver in section 418.]

 

 

Marching Out of Winter

March pretty much sucked. It always does. This March saw a nice steady projection from January and February.

January: 446.5 miles and 10 bike commutes

February: 506.5 miles and 15 bike commutes

March: 677.5 miles and 19 commutes

That’s 1630.5 miles and 44 commutes for the year.

My longest ride was only 41 miles, which included a commute and some cherry blossom watching.

I rode the Tour Easy (Big Nellie) 296.5 miles. The Mule came in second with 225.5 miles. Little Nellie came in third at 119.5 miles. The Cross Check did the Vasa ride and only a few random miles for a total of 46.5.

Although The Mule has the most miles so far this year, it’s going to the back of the line for the next few months. I plan on using it for my tour around Lake Michigan later this summer so it needs to rest up.

My miles probably will dip in April. We are having our floors refinished which is likely to cause chaos with our day to day lives for a week. Also, it’s birthday month for the Ladies Rootchopper. That means concerts and dinners out and such.

The really good news as far as I am concerned is that my body has finally awoken from its hibernation. The first ten weeks of the year, I have felt slow and out of sync on my bikes. Now that my bikes are in good mechanical order and I have settled into a riding routine, my body mechanics are vastly improved. I can’t wait for that first warm weekend day. Boom!

In the meantime, have some blossoms from the weeping cherry tree in front of our house.

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Navigating the Blossom Borg

Yesterday I rode my bike to the Adams Morgan neighborhood of DC.  I was going to a get together for my friend Ricky who was hit by  a car a couple of weeks ago. He was also celebrating his 50th birthday. Under the circumstances, he’s probably grateful to be 50 instead of pushing up the daisies.

My trip took me through Old Town Alexandria where I did some business at the UPS Store. Then I rode the inland route, the alternate to the Mount Vernon Trail, all the way to Lady Bird Johnson Park opposite the monuments in DC. There I crossed back over to the MVT. There were an unusual number of walkers on the Virginia side of the Potomac so I knew it would be crowded at the Tidal Basin directly across the river.

As I took the ramp to the 14th Street Bridge, I waved a family group of bicyclists to go before me. There were perhaps 15 people in the group. Their ages ranged from 10 to 50. They took their time and were very careful to avoid crashing into each other or into other trail users. Nicely done folks.

On the bridge I could get a closer view of the crowds around the Tidal Basin. It was insane. When I arrived at the Jefferson Memorial at the DC end of the bridge it was an absolute zoo. Suffice it to say, “On your left” doesn’t work with a busload of disoriented tourists from Japan.

After my bicycle escort veered off to park, I rode through the tourist hordes. I tried to use pavement but it was pointless so I rode on the grass and eventually found a clear path on the sidewalk that follows the approach to the bridge to the east of the Memorial.

The sidewalk curves back to merge with the cherry tree lined sidewalk that goes around the perimeter of the basin. It was a sea of humanity. Moving ever so slowly through a pinch point on a bridge over the inlet that connects the basin to Washington Channel. It must have looked like a swarm of ants from above.

You could almost hear the voice in their collective hive mind:

Must. See. Blossoms.

Must. See/ Blossoms.

Resistance is futile.

I crossed the street to get around the swarm. At 15th and Maine, I waited for  a red light. Pedestrians who were waiting to cross Maine were so thick they spilled from the sidewalk and blocked my way.

The light turned green and the swarm moved as one. As I rode up to Independence Avenue, the swarm moved on the sidewalks to either side of me. At Independence, the swarm swallowed a crosswalk. Two traffic control officers tried in vain to maintain order. The swarm would not be denied. It swallowed them. After half a light cycle, an opening appeared and I carefully slipped through. Now I only had to deal with the swarm of cars moving so slowly.

DSCN4716.JPG
The Touroid Borg at 15th and Independence. If you look closely, you can see one of the traffic cops. 

A turning tour bus blocked 15th at Pennsylvania allowing me to get onto the 15th Street cycletrack where I was joined by a woman riding alone. She seemed uneasy with riding in such conditions so she told me she was going to follow my lead. She had an accent, and, as it turns out, was German. Having lived on Capitol Hill for the last year, she discovered that riding a bike was the best way to get around town. Especially on days like today. Once we escaped the White House area the crowds dissipated and we made good time. She peeled off at P Street while I forged ahead.

I reached Meridian Hill Park and did a victory lap. The water cascade had not been turned on but otherwise it was a normal Saturday in the park. No swarm of tourists. Just local folk doing local folk park things.

I made it to the get together at a pool hall in AdMo. Ricky looked to be in great shape. He seems to be recovering nicely. He may even start going to work next week full time. It will be a lot longer before he can ride a bike again however.

The get together featured a bunch of BikeDC folks from Friday Coffee Club so it was a reunion one day after the finale.  I stayed way too long. Twilight was descending as I emerged on the street. The effects of the beer were made evident by the fact that The Mule seemed like a bucking bronco.

No guts, no glory.

(Do not try this at home. Really. Riding through traffic at twilight after drinking beer is just not a good idea. )

I rode back down to the swarm, touching cars here and there at stop lights to get my low speed balance in check. The swarm was smaller. Perhaps touroids calm down like hornets when the air cools.

The river crossing was almost normal. As was the ride down the trail to my house.

Today was the first day this spring that The Mule and I seemed to be in sync. After tweaking my handlebars and saddle, I finally found the sweet spot where pedaling seemed effortless. This gives me hope for the spring riding season and my tour planned for early July.

The day really zonked me. I fell asleep working a crossword puzzle at the kitchen table. When I awoke, I lied down on the couch in our family room. Then the spasms in my legs began. First, my left thigh, then my right calf, then my right thigh, then both  my thighs. On and on into the night.

Apparently beer is not the best electrolyte drink.

I drank some water and lemonade and hoped for the best. Then I slept like a log from a cherry tree.

 

 

Bittersweet Friday

Today was a bittersweet Friday.

I had a two-tailwind commute. That’s pretty sweet.

In the morning, I rode past the Tidal Basin with the cherry trees in peak bloom and there were hardly any tourists. (I think the forecast of rain that held off until later scared people away.) That’s pretty sweet.

In the evening, I rode through a tunnel of blossoms to Hains Point and back. That’s pretty sweet.

I arrived at Friday Coffee Club and it was packed. Everybody seemed to be in a good mood. That’s pretty sweet.

And it was my last one. That’s a bitter cup of joe.

Friday Coffee Club started a little over four years ago as a get together with five bike commuting friends: Ed, Mary, Brian, Lane, and Lisa. Soon, like me, others joined. Ages ranged from one to 62. (I’ll never tell.) It became a thing. I became fascinated with the almost bizarre diversity of the crowd. Journalists, writers, editors, economists, lawyers, IT professionals, college administrators, grad students, librarians, Congressional staffers, candidates for public office, chemists (okay, just one), world travelers, randonneurs, marathon runners, bike shop owners, musicians, engineers, and on and on. If you couldn’t find someone interesting to talk with, you were probably dead from the neck up.

I heard about people visiting places like Afghanistan and McMurdo Station at the South Pole.  How often do you have coffee with someone who argued a case before the Supreme Court the day before?  It was at Friday Coffee Club I learned about how you deal with seasickness when scuba diving. (Don’t ask.) The last time I read Green Eggs and Ham was at Friday Coffee Club.

Friday Coffee Club

Maybe what has been even more interesting is how nice these people are.

Okay, everyone except Brian.

Just kidding.

M.E. Swings at 17th and G Streets Northwest has been the home of Friday Coffee Club since its inception. The Swings building is being renovated and Swings will close for 14 months. A new venue called A Baked Joint has been chosen. It’s on the far side of downtown which makes it too far from my office to attend.

Friday’s are going to be tough.

 

When in Rome

Even with our relatively mild winter (save for one whopper of a snow storm) I grew really sick of winter. I try to console myself by recalling that for the first 28 years of my life I lived in Albany, Boston, and Providence. These cities have about 6 more weeks of winter and it gets much colder there.

DC is a beast in the summer, but it is heaven in the spring and fall. In the spring, we get life. A week ago I saw three small deer around the corner from my house. Birds are returning to the area. The stars of the show are the bald eagles. I’ve seen bald eagle pairs at two of the four nests along my commute route. As much as I like seeing them in person, I find it hard to beat watching the eagle cam that monitors the nest at the National Arboretum.

The National Park Service and other agencies plant thousands and thousands of bulbs. They are everywhere. The Mount Vernon Trail passes through scads of daffodils up near DC.

The star of the show are the cherry blossoms. This is the week when the 25910740231_b4dc02edca_mcherry trees in DC reach peak bloom. When the trees reach peak, you can go snow blind walking around the Tidal Basin. It’s really a spectacular show. This morning on my way to work I crossed over the Potomac to take a walk around the Tidal Basin.  The trees around the FDR Memorial seem to be a bit ahead of the trees nearer the water. Martin Luther King is still waiting for Boba Fett to come take him to Jabba the Hutt. He looks pretty awesome behind all those blooms. As I was finishing my circuit, I was joined by Brian, blogger, columnist, administrator, grad student, poodle lover, and rider of bikes big and small. Like me, he was a bit underwhelmed by the blossoms.

On the way 25923095971_5cd5dac2bb_mhome, I once again rode over to the Tidal Basin. This time though I took the road to Hains Point. It is lined with blooming cherry trees. The ride to the point and back is
about three miles. I did it twice mainly because the tailwind coming back from the point was a blast. Once headed for home it became a headwind. Boo.

As I told a friend today, life is like the eagle cam: sometimes you get fuzzy gray eaglets, sometimes you get dead fish innards. Innards look nasty but they help the eaglets become bald eagles.  Headwinds may suck but they make you into a badass bike rider if you endure.

Here are some more pictures from my ride.

 

Check Engine Light: Advantage Bicycles

One of the key advantages of riding a bike is that there are no idiot lights to deal with. The most idiotic of all idiot lights is something called the check engine light. When this light is illuminated something is wrong with your car’s engine. It could be a big thing. It could be a trivial matter.

I suspect that this is all a ruse to get you to spend money on your car. It works.

I was planning on driving Mrs. Rootchoppers 2004 Accord to the dealer for an oil change and an overdue state safety inspection. Total cost of these two items is $50.

I went to start the car. It sounded like I was going to have to get out and turn the crank. The engine did turn over but I made a mental note to add a new battery to the list. The bill was now closer to $200.

Then I realized that the check engine light was on. Danger Will Robinson. I was soon to learn that this particular dealer charges $139 to ascertain the cause. This involved plugging a thingie into the gizmo and writing down the code on the display. Good work if you can get it.

Of course, the car ran fine all the way to the dealer, but I needed to pass inspection and the check engine light was between me and PASS. Arg.

I dropped my car off and pulled Little Nellie out of the trunk for the frigid ride to the office.

The mechanic called and said the reason for the check engine light was a bad solenoid (in plain English, this is an electronic doodad) in the fuel system. He also said the engine was leaking oil.

Not good.

Long story short, $1,000 later I got the car back. Smoke was coming out of my credit card.

Ow.

At least the three mile ride to and from the dealer confirmed that the new shifters on Little Nellie cured it’s shifting woes.

The check engine light stayed off all the way home. The low-on-gas light came on instead.