I had every intention of doing a lot of hiking this spring and summer but, well, you know. So last weekend I kicked off my hiking year with a 10 miler in Rock Creek Park. This was way more than I should have done, but it was fun. I even got a little lost – which is something I am good at.

Today I woke up early and drove to the western facing side of the Mount Weather in the Blue Ridge Mountains. After some interesting driving on windy roads, one of which was unpaved, I found the unmarked trailhead. It’s just a point on the Appalachian Trail that crosses this dirt road. I was expecting a sign. Good thing the directions I got from Hikingupward.com were spot on or I’d still be driving around up there.

After smearing myself with sunscreen and big spray, I headed into the woods on the trail. Ahhhh. I was instantly transported back to my childhood when I spent hours and hours in the woods near my home in Albany. In my mind I was in the wilderness but I was never more than a mile from home. This, however, was mighty close to wilderness. It was silent. The canopy of leaves provided relief from the summer sun. All I could hear was the sound of my footfalls, the leaves blowing in the the breeze, the birds calling., and the sound of my breathing.

The first half mile was downhill, sometimes straight, sometimes meandering through chicanes. The footting was fine. There were plenty of rocks and tree roots to force me to focus on the ground in front of me. As I made my way, I suddenly realized this is the goddamned Appalachian Trail!

This section of the AT is called the Roller Coaster, which perfectly describes the terrain: down, up, and around. After a half mile, I came to a bridge across a stream at the base of the hill. On the other side the trail rose for 0.9 miles to a ridge. I realized: nobody’s here! Solitude.

This ended in a few minutes. I came upon a through hiker. He had a big pack on his back and looked like he’d been in the woods for a long time. A few minutes later a trail runner came bounding past. How the hell do you run on this terrain, in this heat and humidity, with all these rocks and roots on the trail? He was smiling. Go dude!

The trail reaches the ridge then drops through a saddle to another stream. This one had no bridge, just a mess of rocks to play hopscotch on.

After this stream I missed a turn (I never did find the blaze) and hiked up a fire road. I didn’t realize my mistake until the road came to a T with no blazes in either direction. I took the Robert Frost route until the foliage overtook the road. Oops. Turn around. Not wanting to hike back down the hill to the last blaze, I took the anti-Robert Frost route. The fire road intersected the trail and I was back in business.

Going up to another ridge. This one has splendid views of the Shenandoah Valley during the winter but for now I would have to be content with a sea of green. The trail instructions that I downloaded said to keep hiking until I came upon a “rocky are with views of the west.” Without the views to the west it was kind of hard to tell when to stop. So, of course, I didn’t.

Did I mention it was hot and humid?

I was soaked in sweat. I was wearing a knapsack containing six water bottles. I felt like and inverse Jacques Cousteau.

I kept going until the trail turned downhill. At this point I figured I must be past the turnaround point. So I turned around. I celebrated by eating some crackers and pop tarts as I headed back. If anyone had come along the conversation would have gone something like this.

“Hello”

“Mmrrmmff”

The way back seemed much faster at first. Of course, I was going downhill at first. I was looking down at the trail to make sure I didn’t turn an ankle on the rocks when I saw it. A tan colored snake right where my foot was about to go. I don’t know much about snakes but he didn’t have a rattle so I figured he was harmless. I picked it up and licked it.

Just kidding. I gave it a wide berth. I don’t like snakes.

On the way down the hill I saw where I had made my mistake. There was actually a sign saying AT North but no corresponding sign saying AT South.

I passed another overnight hiker, this time a woman in her late 20s or early 30s. (For all I know she could have been 40.) She looked like she had just started, but had been hiking for a least an hour. Tough girl.

I reached the bottom of a hill and headed back up. I could hear the sound of boys making a lot of noise. So much for solittude. I reached a ridge and there were the boys splayed out on a wide spot on the trail. They were junior high age, doing an overnight hike with a couple of dads keeping them out of trouble.

They quieted down as I worked my way through their supine bodies. Enjoy the bugs and dirt, kids.

I kept on keeping on with the sound of my feet for company. I pulled up when I saw a huge black snake. Dang. There must be a whole lot of snake food in these hills.

On my way back up the last 1/2 mile to the car, I passed a through hiker resting. His shirt was off, hanging on a tree branch. His stuff was spread all about. “Gotta take a break in this heat,” he said as I plodded past.  No kidding, dude.

The last bit up to the car was the steepest part of the hike. This was not unlike my Sugarloaf hike.

Suddenly, I emerged from the woods and there were the cars. When I parked there was only one car, now there were eight.

I was totally soaked. And it felt wonderful.

After the Sugarloaf hike, I thought that hiking is better with other people. Not anymore. This solo hike was like a mental massage. My mind was completely relaxed as I took my pack off.

There will be more hikes. Many, many more. Some solo. Some with friends. Wanna go?

Here are some pix.

I worked from home today. I spent most of my time fretting about the crew replacing the gas line to the house. There were backhoes and sweaty men and tampers and a big truck with a Mud Dog whatever that is. They finished up after six or seven hours in the heat. So far nothing has gone BOOM.

My daughter took off for a concert in Maryland (something about Mumford and his kids) and my wife was doing yoga, so I was on my own for dinner. I decided to ride The Mule to Old Town and rustle myself up some grub.  Before I did I sent a tweet out just in case someone else might be up thataway.

I decided to have fish and chips at Eamonns. While waiting for food, I checked my mobile device and learned from Bob (Don’t Call Me Rachel) Cannon that a tall ship was docked in Old Town. I had thought it was coming tomorrow so I was pretty happy to get a chance to go check it out. L’Hermione is a replica of a French vessel built in 1780. Lafayette convinced the king of France to build it and send it to the colonies so that the upstarts could kick some British ass. Merci beaucoup, Marquis.

A later tweet told me that Kathy Lewis was in Old Town to do pretty much the same thing as me. An Instagram post told me that Linel was taking a yoga class a few blocks away and planned to check out the Hermione as well.

I had already ordered food and she had already locked up her bike so I ate and rode down to meet her at Virtue, a tony eatery owned by the same people who own Eamonn’s.

We sat and drank a beer and talked about the quirks of friendship: how some require no maintenance and are lifelong while others are impermanent, falling apart without explanation.

We moved our dicussion outdoors and made our way to the Hermione. The crowds were plenty big for a weeknight. I am sure the place will be mobbed this weekend. He stood and admired the beautiful rigging, sails, and woodwork. It boggles my mind that a ship this small can survive the stresses of the North Atlantic.

We turned to leave and in short order ran into Linel. We chatted for 20 minutes as the sunlight began to fade. Both Kathy and I practically drooled over her beautiful bike. (Sorry I didn’t think to take a picture.)

I had neglected to bring a headlight and Kathy needed to get to bed early so the three of us went our separate ways.

The ride home in the fading daylight was fun, except for the bugs. It’s that time of year when you ride through clouds of bugs on the trail. I concentrated on keeping my mouth shut and hoped none would get in my ears. I made it almost all the way home before BUZZZZZ. A fly went right in my ear. Ack!

I made it home grateful for the wonders of social media. What could have been a solitary, out and back ride turned into quite an interesting night.

Today’s commute started out splendidly. I wore a t-shirt that has grown in the last few weeks. I think this may be a result of the bike tour I did last month. Nice surprise.

The ride to work on The Mule was uneventful for the most part. I was in my usual trance until I made it to Union Street in Old Town. There I found myself following a BMW station wagon with Maryland plates. It was inching along the street. I tried passing on the right and it drifted to the right. I moved back left and it moved back. Then it came to a stop right in the middle of the lane.

I decide to hell with this nonsense and passed the car on the left. The driver was fiddling with his cell phone. I yelled something non-vulgar as I rode by shaking my head demonstratively.

I continued workward with a nice breeze that made my oddly large t-shirt flap along the sides. When I came to the bridge just before the troll bridge (the boardwalk underneath the TR Bridge) I spotted an odd duck sitting on a mud flat in the river. It was a snow goose. I thought it might be dead because it was positioned awkwardly and was not moving. It was still there in the evening and was moving around quite gracefully.

When I arrived at my office I had another surprise. Kelly is a co-worker who sits in a cubicle just outside my office. She is a runner and skier who is recovering from hip surgery. The doctor has cleared her for non-impact activity. For the last few weeks she’s been picking my brain about bike commuting. She had her old mountain bike fixed up with new tires and some other basic maintenance work. This weekend she took it for a test ride. Apparently it was a big success because today she went for it; she rode to work for the first time! She was totally stoked about the experience.

Striking while the iron was hot, I told her about DC Bike Party, Friday Coffee Club, Wednesday Coffee Club, 3rd Thursday Happy Hour, the Donut Crawl, and the Bicycle Space social rides.  I had her at “cupcakes.”

The ride home was a not so big surprise. It is summer here in DC and that means evening thunder storms. I knew from the weather warnings that I would not make it all the way home before the rains hit. I was hoping to get to an underpass near National Airport but my luck ran out about 1/4 mile from it. I’d have kept riding in the rain but there was lightning and I was in no hurry so I took shelter under the bridge.

I always say that I am less concerned about the rain than I am about the wind. There were several large limbs on the trail as I headed south from the bridge. I later learned that a tree had fallen across the trail at the 14th Street Bridge where I could have waited out the storm. Eek.

Once the rain stopped I headed home. Within 20 minutes the sun came out. By the time I got home my clothes were dry.

It’s summer in DC.

May is National Bike Month. I made the most of it. I rode 951 miles. 873 miles were on The Mule, my 1991 Specialized Sequoia touring bike.  79 miles were aboard Little Nellie by Bike Friday New World Tourist. Big Nellie, my Tour Easy recumbent took the month off.

I rode to work 14 times, 12 times on The Mule and twice on Little Nellie for a total of 401 ½ miles.  Ironically, I did not ride my bike to work on Bike to Work Day. This is actually normal for me because, for some strange reason, I frequently have work or family conflicts on the third Friday in May.

I took The Mule on a bike tour from Pittsburgh to DC. The total mileage of the tour plus riding to and from the start and finish was 371 miles.  (There are something like 12 or 13 blog posts about the ride so a single link would be kind of pointless.)

I rode to Nats Park and saw a baseball game with Katie Lee. Afterwards I rode with her to the Capitol to do her victory lap.

I also rode my bike to the Tour de Fat. In prior years, this event – a party in Washingon’s beautiful Yards Park to raise money for WABA and other local bike organizations – has left me flat. This year was very different. I really enjoyed hanging out with a more than dozen #bikedc friends. My only regret was that I didn’t volunteer. I will do so next year if I am in town. Promise.

Early in the month I rode the Tour de Cookie. It was for a good cause. There were so many cookies I couldn’t eat them all.

During the last week of the month, I cracked 3,000 miles for the year. I ended the month at 3,118 ½ miles. I have biked to work 66 times this year. What I find interesting is how many miles I am riding on my oldest bike. I have put 2,093 ½ miles on The Mule in 2015 and ridden it to work 45 times. On the last day of May, The Mule celebrated with a milestone:

Just before the tour, I went shopping for a new touring bike, one with a slightly bigger frame than The Mule’s. I couldn’t find what I was looking for. I need to get back to shopping. I am going to wear The Mule out.

After bike commuting over 130 miles, I find it hard to motivate myself to go for a long weekend ride. Last year this resulted in me doing some dayhiking. I hope to get back to hiking someday soon.

Another thing I like to do is watch baseball games. Fortunately, the Washington Nationals are playing terrific baseball these days. The Nationals ballpark is 16 1/2 miles from my house. Parking is very expensive. Taking the Metro is a hassle. What’s a fan to do?

Ride to the game.

Yesterday, packed up some PB&J sammiches and rode The Mule to the ballpark to see a game with my friend Katie and her friend William. This is the third time I’ve ridden to a game and it is definitely the way to go. Good baseball weather and good biking weather go hand in hand.

I decided to wear my brand new, 2015 Bike to Work Day shirt. It made me look like a Cheeto.

I rode up the Mount Vernon Trail which was a zoo. People of all ages who don’t normally use the trail were out in great abundance. The only way to ride in these conditions is to slow way down and anticipate stupidity. There was lots of stupidity. Lots.

Underneath the Wilson Bridge, a public space is used for all kinds of instruction. So days there are people learning how to fence with broadswords, others there are hard core adult fitness classes. This day there were kids were being taught how to ride bikes.

Moving on, I managed not to hit anybody or be hit. In fact I made much faster progress than I anticipated so I stopped at Daingerfield Island to reflect on a sailboat gliding on the river. Until another rider sat down beside me and ruined my alone time.

Back on the bike I rode into the city. It being Memorial Day there were road closures all over the place and no signs telling me how to proceed. So I ignored the closures. I was away from the touristy area in about five minutes. I stopped to take a picture of the construction on the Southwest DC waterfront. Dang, this is a big project. I do hope we end up with something human scale and not all Miami Beach.

Near L’Enfant Plaza a tourist in a car did an illegal u-turn in front of me. I was ready for him. Believing in fair play, I made an illegal left turn to get on the side streets headed to the ballpark. G Street had little traffic and abundant shade. (DC is a city with thousands of trees. Brilliant.)

At busy South Capitol Street, I waited at a red light. A driver wanted to do a u-turn at the intersection to head back south toward the stadium but there were several  DDOT employees directing traffic and signs forbade u-turns. The driver, whose window was down, started yelling at the DDOT woman standing near me. He gave up and proceeded northward. I turned to DDOT woman and deadpanned, “You know, this is all your fault.” She cracked up, smiled, and said. “I don’t post the signs.”

I arrived at the ballpark and parked my bike in the Bike Valet. Yeah, baby. You take your bike into a caged area where two attendants watch your bike while you watch the game. Is this a great country or what!!!!! (They did not have this service at PNC Park in Pittsburgh. C’mon Pirates, get with the program!)

After acquiring some bottles of water from a street vendor (you can bring food and closed non-glass, non-alcoholic bottles into the game), I headed for our seats. A few days ago, my friend Katie had pounced on $5 nose bleed seats that were actually quite decent. We sat in the shade too, protected by the bit of roof that holds the stadium lights used for night games.

The game was fun. The Nats won thanks to crazy good Bryce Harper and pitching that literally can’t be beat.

The best part of the game was the fact that our section of the ballpark was filled with kids. Sitting next to me was a three year old boy. He was extraordinarily well behaved. Baseball games are long so about the sixth inning he faded into a deep sleep while sitting upright with his legs crisscross apple sauce in his little Keen sandals. Every so often he’d keel over slowly until the side of his head klunked against the metal arm of the seat. His head would then slowly return to verticle and he would slowly teeter over to the opposite arm rest. Eventually we used a balled up jacket and a bag I had brought with me as cushions. When the crowd roared at the play on the field, he went on sleeping. Nothing was going to wake him.

Meanwhile, Katie decided to tutor the ten year old boy sitting in front of me in the fine art of baseball scorekeeping. Katie is a master of the craft and keeps a meticulous scorebook. The little boy was at his first baseball game. Katie was taught to keep score when she was a kid by her late father so her tutoring was a labor of love. The two of them were so nerdly. “Here, let me show you…”

After the game, Katie and I went to the Nats Team Store in the ballpark. It was crowded but Katie exhibited her uncanny ability to glide through the mob like a shark searching for prey. Sadly, she was turned off by the absurd prices and the glitter on some otherwise interesting shirts. (Katie: “Baseball t-shirts with glitter. I don’t think so.”)

After the game we fetched our bikes from the valet and rode up to the Capitol for Katie’s ritual victory lap. She was slipping and sliding through people, around bollards, up and down curb cuts. At one point, I nearly broadsided her. I ride more like an oil tanker, I’m afraid. During her victory lap, Katie rode hands free around the new plaza on the east side of the Capitol. It has been ages since I rode no-hands. It’s all but impossible to do this on my bikes for various reasons. I looked on in envy as she joyfully rode around and around.

We said our goodbyes and Katie rode off for her home in DC and I headed back to Mount Vernon. My ride down Independence Avenue was almost noneventful. A big black SUV with Maryland For Hire plates came up behind me and its driver laid on his horn. I turned to him and told him to have a nice day. (Actually, my exact words included an F bomb. His impatience and ignorance of local traffic laws are not my problem. Chill, dude!)

Once away from the mayhem of DC Memorial Day traffic I had another challenging ride. Little kids at Gravelly Point were enthralled by the planes taking off and landing at National Airport. I am amazed that more of them don’t get clobbered by bike riders. I went through this stretch at about 5 miles per hour.

Old Town Alexandria was a madhouse as usual, but I managed to get through without too much difficulty by using cars as a shield to get through intersections.

At Belle Haven Park, kids and grown ups were out in force seemingly trying to master the art of not paying attention to their surroundings. I rang my bell and passed a man and a woman, obviously not regular bike riders, wobbling down the trail. The man called out to the woman that I was passing (redundant since I had already rang my bell loudly). She turned to ask him what he had said and, as she did so, she veered directly into my bath. Doing my best Katie impersonation, I swerved around her like a fish in a coral reef.

And so I arrived home after eight hours, 33 miles of bike riding, and a 4-1 Nats win.

Thanks to Katie and William and the kids for a fun day at the ballpark.

During the day I saw online, for the umpteenth time, the statement that only about a quarter of cyclists in the DC area are female. My experience differs:

Alex, Amy, Bec, Betsy, Charmaine, Claire, Crystal, Cyndy, Elisabeth, Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Emilia, Erika, Flor, Gina, Heather, Jean, Jean, Kate, Katie, Katie, Katie Ann, Kathy, Kirsten, Kristen, Laura, Lauren, Leslie, Lesley, Linel, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lorraine, Lydia,  Magen, Mary, Megan, Michelle, Nancy, Nelle, Rachel, Samantha, Shane, Reba, Veronica

That’s off the top of my head. The women I know that ride bicycles in DC. I know I am leaving several names out. I also commute daily on the Mount Vernon Trail and my sense is that the share of women riders is much higher than a quarter.

So, tonight I conducted an experiment. Starting at the Memorial Bridge I kept track of the share of female riders for 100 northbound riders.  27 were female. The percentage started out near 50 but fell erratically until it settled in the high 20s and stayed there.

I’ll try this again another day, but 100 people is a pretty big sample.

I am back to commuting on my new lightweight Mule. The ride in was dominated by a “Wah Wah” earworm. Beyond that I don’t remember much about it. Probably this is a carry over from my six days of bike trance on the trails from Pittsburgh. (More about the mental aspect in a future post.)

I had to wait 15 minutes to leave the garage at work because it was rain was pouring down and Lynn Street in Rosslyn was a river. Impatiently I rode out in the rain. Lucky for me it stopped in about five minutes. I expected it to start up at any moment.

I rode straight home. A mile down the Mount Vernon Trail, I had to stop. Goslings were bopping about in the grass next to the trail.

At the south end of Old Town a mother held her toddler boy’s hand as I rode past on the trail. He was dying to go into a big mud puddle next to him. As I was about to ride into it, he said “Puddle! Puddle!” and pointed at the water. I either upset him or gave him a big thrill.

A couple of hundred yards later on the north side beneath the Wilson Bridge, I nearly ran over a five foot long black snake. Next up, just a short ways further on the south side of the bridge, I rode past a medium sized turtle. It was about twice the size of a box turtle so I am guessing it was an immature snapper.

I was sure I was done with the critters after that. I left the trail at the stone bridge and rode a quarter mile on Alexandria Avenue. The road was wet from the rain so I focused on not slipping as I turned left onto Shenandoah Road. As I leaned into the turn, I was startled by three white tailed deer directly in my way. Two went left. One went right. I rode through the middle thankful that there weren’t any more to startle.

We’ve had near perfect weather. Our bikes have had only minor issues. The Meth Man seems to be gone. We’ve met several nice people along the way, We have become numb to the sound of our tires on the trail, the sight of green leaves, purple and white flowers, and blue river waters. We have few complaints. We hope to leave Brunswick tomorrow for the last 55 miles into DC where a celebratory beer will be had. Hopefully around 4:30. We will tweet and FB details as we get closer to town. Escort riders are welcome to ride out the C&O and join us.