When the Going Gets Weird….

Yesterday’s bike commute ended with a white snake on my front doorstep. In January. What could be weirder than that? Be careful what you ask.

It was warmer today. These things are relative. It was 36 degrees. The weather gods could not leave well enough along and added a 15 mile per hour headwind. To make matter worse I over slept. I was going to be late. For Friday Coffee Club. Eek.

Pedal. Pedal.

The bridges on the Mount Vernon Trail were icy but rideable. The pavement was clear. But for the relentless headwind The Mule and I would have made decent time. Then we encountered the flyover bridges at the airport. Ice, ice baby. I made it over the first one without slippage. I said three quick “Hail Marys” and forged ahead. As I approached the second bridge an oncoming runner warned of ice. Just as I reached the icy part, a recumbent rider blew past me. My recumbent is useless on ice because it has very little weight over the front wheel. His was a different design and his weight was more evenly distributed. Still I expected to see him skidding on his side in no time.

Nope. He just flew across the ice. My brain said. “It’s a trap!” and I slowed to a crawl as another runner approached looking very concerned. I pulled my left foot off its pedal and touched the ground. Solid ice. Somehow I kept rolling forward without slipping. Once I cleared the ice I expected a panel of judges to give me scores, knocking me down 0.5 to 1.0 points for my foot tap. I’ll bet the judge from the Netherlands screws me over. He always does.

The rest of the ride was blustery but, if anything, I was overdressed for the occasion. I arrived at Friday Coffee Club to find a decent sized gathering. I advised Sam, who had to brave the same flyover bridges after coffee, that she was in for an interesting ride.

Caffienated, I headed for Rosslyn. I took the TR bridge which empties out on the Virginia side of the Potomac onto an icy boardwalk. Somehow I made it across the ice field without slipping. (I am sure that I will pay for my good fortune someday down the road.)

The workday was pretty slow. I had a 90 minute meeting after lunch. When the meeting was over, I walked into my office. My boss followed me and said, “Go home now.” I looked at him like he had two heads. “There has been a threat against the building. Leave.”

Dang. My brain said, “Yay, I get to ride home in sunlight.” Then my brain said, “If something really nasty doesn’t kill me first.” I can handle snakes on my doorsteps. Threats to life and limb are a bit above my pay grade. As the late Hunter S. Thompson once said, “When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.”

I closed my door and changed like Superman in a phone booth.

The ride home was actually pretty nice. I had a 25 mile per hour tailwind.There was no ice at all left on the trail. In fact the only slippert stuff on the trail was an abundance of geese poop. Apparently Canada geese have begun their northern migration. This was taken about half way into this particular gaggle of geese.

Cold? OK. Ice? OK, sorta. Snakes? Getouddaheah!

I awoke to calm winds and 16 degrees. Sounds like a good day for a bike ride to me. I hit the road on The Mule and was quite cold for the first mile. The only concessions I made to the low temperature were a long sleeve base layer (instead of my usual short sleeve shirt) and chemical hand warmers in my boots. I was a little worried, but once my blood began to flow it was like any other ride to work. I was totally comfortable.

I reached Dyke Marsh just before sunrise. As usual, it was glorious. I can’t recall the first time I saw a sunrise and truly appreciated it, but I was well into adulthood when it happened. I missed thousands of light shows!!!

The trail still had icy spots. The ones on the Dyke Marsh boardwalk were ridable, but when a section of the trail just to the north of the Woodrow Wilson bridge had black ice. I walked this bit and was glad I did. It was incredibly slick.

From the bridge to DC the trail was clear. Some patches of black ice on the trail opposite the Washington Monument caused me to ride in the grass for a bit but I can’t complain. It was pretty good riding with no wind to speak of. The troll bridge, the boardwalk underneath the TR Bridge, had abundant ice but it was all roughed up so I it was rideable. I had to focus hard on riding in a straight line, pedalling smoothly, and not tensing up. “Just relax. Breathe. Pedal gently.” Riding on snow and ice is a curious mixture of meditation and terror. I feel pretty good that I made it to work without once slipping.

The ride home was a whole ‘nother ballgame. Reports from co-workers were not promising. The sidewalks outside our office building were icing over from sleet and freezing rain. So, I packed up my things and hopped on The Mule for what could turn out to be a really interesting commute.

When I reached the sidewalk from the garage in our office building, I tested it with my foot. Not too bad. I duck walked my bike to the street. Test. Not bad at all. Off I rode. The street was wet and it seemed safe to ride on, but I wasn’t about to ride over the metal grate at 19th Street and I was super careful about riding on any painted lines.

I could see that the connector o the Mount Vernon Trail has a thin layer of sleet on it. I took a chance and rode down to the trail. I was doing fine until the switchback. As I came around the corner, I could see that the slope to the MVT was really icy. I slowed to a stop and grabbed a railing. Ice! Ay! I carefully walked the bike down to the pavement. It was a good thing I dismounted because I almost certainly would have crashed otherwise.

Okay, 1/2 mile down, 14 miles to go. This is going to take a while. I rode very gingerly down the trail. The surface would go from wet to sleet covered and back at random. The troll bridge was covered in sleet but I could see bike tracks and guessed that it was rideable. With great care I slowly rode the entire bridge. At the end I started breathing again. Then another concrete bridge. Same type of ice. Same success.

The asphalt trail went back and forth between wet and sleet-covered. I suppose the granualrity of the sleet pellets afforded my tires just enough grip so as not to slip. All my concentration was on keeping my arms and shoulders loose. If I tensed up and slid, I’d go down for sure.

Pedal, pedal.

After a couple miles, my confidence increased and I picked up speed. Thank god there were no ninjas or cyclists behaving like jackasses.

Each time I went down the slightest incline I held my breath. The two flyover bridges at National Airport were icy messes but I made it over both. The slight decline to go under the Metro bridge was scary. It wasn’t icy but a fall in the wrong place might send me skidding into oncoming traffic on the GW Parkway. No problem. The downhill just before the connector bridge to Crystal City was another tricky one. Got it!

If I didn’t have gloves on, I would have chewed my nails off by this point. I could have abandoned the MVT for the Four Mile Run trail and the streets of Alexandria which were likely to be treated but, having made it this far, I went all in.

Of course, the MVT bridge over Four Mile Run was an icy mess. Ha! Again and aganin I gambled and won. No sliding at all. I was getting pretty good at this. The beaver bridge (a boardwalk with a treacherous S-curve) was bad news, but I had it all to myself and could pick a straight line. Done.

The boardwalk around the Slaters Lane apartment building has one tight right turn. Gonna make it,. Gonna make it. Stay loose. Got it!

The concrete bridge around the power plant nearly got me. There were two big puddles on a curve. I looekd down and under the water were sheets of ice. I managed to come to a near stop and duck walked the bike over the ice.

For the rest of the ride, the trail was wet not icy. The wooden bridges from the Beltway south were more of the same but these were either very short or straight. I rode them all without incident. When I arrived home I was incredibly relieved. I put the bike away and went to my front door only to find this:

Snakes!? In January? In an ice storm?!

Hurry spring.

Seven

I was talking with Sam at Friday Coffee Club. The conversation was about holey sweaters. Sam (and Lawyer Mike) both were chatting about the virtues of old wool sweaters as a mid layer for winter biking. We should form a club or something. Sam is also a redhead for which she gets special bonus points. When I was a kid, and had, um, hair, I was a redhead too. In fact I still am. In places.

As she was about to leave, Sam mentioned that she had to go to a physical therapy appointment. I asked why and she said she was recently hit by a car. Incredulous, I mentioned that she makes six people, all women, that I know who’ve been hit by a car in since May 2011. Then she said, “Make it seven. Jeff was hit recently too.” Jeff is her husband who was standing across the room. He appeared to be okay.

Are you kidding me? Why is walking and riding a bike around here a blood sport?

It makes me think that I have a target on my back and that it’s only a matter of time before my number gets called.

It’s Not the Cold, It’s the Mileage

Something is terribly wrong. For the second day in a row, I looked forward to riding to work in sub-freezing temperatures. This morning I left well before daybreak to arrive at Friday Coffee Club at a reasonable time. I was mighty cold for the first mile but warmed up and settled into a rhythm following the white circle that my headlight makes. It’s a bit like following the bouncing ball from those old sing-a-longs on TV from before the dawn of time.

The roads and trails appeared to have an ever-so-thin patina of ice on them but I only slipped once and that was on a patch of slush that I decided to ride through. The patches of ice on the trail that were there yesterday morning were gone taking away those moments of indecision and nail biting (nail biting while riding with lobster gloves on is an art, let me tell you). I crossed over the Potomac River on the 14th Street Bridge which is actually named for a man (no his name is not 14th Street) on the Air Florida plane that crashed into the icy river on takeoff some 33 years ago. He gave up the rescue line so that others could be saved. He ended up at the bottom of the river.

I digress. The river had frozen into sheets of ice that had buckled. They overlapped haphazardly. So I took a picture.

On the DC side the curb cuts and other smooth bits of sidewalk looked like sheets of ice but my tires held their line. I made my way to Swings House of Caffeine unimpeded by big metal things. Just before arriving Aaron pulled up alongside me on his massive cargo bike. I think he is overcompensating for something.

At Swings cyclists were just beginning to arrive. I can’t remember the last time I arrived so early. Last year at this time I recall arriving and being part of a grumpy quintet of frozen male bike commuters. Not today. Within 20 minutes there were more than 20 bicycle commuters, including six or seven women. Nobody, male or female, seemed the least bit grumpy. Except perhaps for Aaron, but, as I said, he has issues.

The ride to work involved the usual re-crossing of the river on the TR Bridge. A gaggle of geese took off from the river and began to form a V as they passed overhead. One lone goose remained on a small sheet of ice in midstream. I wonder if his feet were frozen to the ice.

When I left the office it was 20 degrees warmer and I had a tailwind. By contrast with the morning it felt like July. I was tempted to pull over and bask in the sun but thought better of it.

When I arrived home, I checked the odometer on The Mule. It said this:

As Indiana Jones said, “It’s not the age, it’s the mileage.”

You Look Yet You Do Not Observe

I have been riding to the same office for over three years. And with only a handful of exceptions I always ride from the Mount Vernon Trail up a switchback, across a bridge, then up to the fabled Intersection of Doom. The switchback offers a pretty nice view of Theodore Roosevelt Island. But it’s a blur lost in my negotiating the turn. Until tonight.

I rode down to the switchback and I saw this tree. This magnificent tree on the bank across the way on the island. It looked spooky and majestic and menacing. Or maybe it was waving at me. I think it’s a beech tree. I had to stop and admire it. Hiding in plain sight.

Why Worry Indeed

My drive to work streak is now at 5 days. I have bike commuted once in 2015. The reason is ice. I don’t do ice. Why don’t I get studded tires? They are very expensive for a start. Even if I had them they’d slow me down. I don’t want to be bike commuting for 90 minutes each way in 15 degree temps either.

Driving isn’t half bad when schools are delayed. Today I made it to work in under 25 minutes. That’s like driving to work on a Sunday. I am getting caught up on cartunes. I have listened to Le Vent du Nord, Los Lobos, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, and Dire Straits so far. Quebec, East LA, North Florida, and Scotland. I think I’ve got it all covered.

I had a stressful day today at work. I was interviewed live on the radio. The interview went very well but the interview was at 4 pm so I had to wait all day for the unknown. When I had to give speeches in high school, I’d freak out beforehand. To get rid of my nerves I’d pretend that I was screaming and clench my fists. (Actually, something similar to this technique is in the yoga book I use. Of course, I had no idea I was doing a yoga technique at the time.) The only downside is you look like you should be taken to a nervous hospital.

After going through some tough times in the last few months, a friend advised me to try meditation. Then I saw Dan Harris, a TV reporter, give an account of how his anxiety attacks almost destroyed his career. The video is really hard to watch. He turned to meditation and it saved him. Like Harris, I’m not so much interested in the religious/spriritual aspect of mediation. I don’t follow any isms, except, perhaps, cynicism. I have seen too many people use religious clap trap to rationalize boorish behavior for a start. I had to admit that Harris makes a pretty convincing case, however. So, I did some research online. Then I found some 15-minute YouTube videos with useful dreamy music and sounds and such. And I gave it a go.

I’ll be damned. It really helps. Very much like my fist clenching technique but infinitely more relazing. I’ve done my little meditation thing now 7 days in a row. I hate starting. It’s hard for me to sit still and concentrate on essentially nothing. When the 15 minutes are up, I feel like somebody took away my favorite toy. Wait! I gimme that back!

The last four or five weeks I have been a bundle of worries. Worry is my natural state. The professed benefits of meditation remind me of a time when I was just starting a bike tour to Indiana. I was about 50 miles from home, cycling west on the C&O Canal towpath, and I was absolutely miserable with “what if this goes wrong” and “what if that goes wrong” thoughts. Then it hit me. You idiot! You are on vacation! Chill! Nothing is wrong now. Enjoy this. I purposefully pushed the worries out of my mind. The rest of the ride was joyful.

Of course, I did have problems. Three days later my back rim failed oustide of Frostburg. I found a not-yet-open bike shop. The owner and his manager agreed to help me out overnight! I missed maybe 2 hours of riding time. Three days after that my brake cables seized. I found the best bike mechanic ever in Little Washington PA. He did an amazing job on my bike. Why worry? (A pretty decent Dire Straits song, by the way.)

I don’t know whether I will keep practicing meditation. Or if I will try something other than the simple breathing meditation that I learned. For now, it floats my boat.

During the day I learned that smoke had filled the Metro station near my wife’s office. Tonight I found out that one person had died. Yet another reminder (not that I needed another one after three people I know died in the last four months) that you better enjoy life while you have it.

Why worry, indeed.

Cold Walking, Calm Mind

Three things I like about riding a bike are (1) it allows me to get exercise while I am doing something useful (like getting to work or going to the store), (2) on hot days I generate my own cooling wind, and (3) it calms my mind.

I didn’t have anywhere I needed to go today and it was 21 degrees outside so a cooling wind was not desirable, but after four days of inactivity I had to get outside and do something physical. I laced up my hiking shoes and went for a long walk.

I was bundled up with a wool cap and neck gaiter to cover my head. I wore a t-shirt (my 2014 50 States Ride shirt), a polyester fleece, and a leather jacket. My hands were covered in mittens. My legs, which were going to do most of the work, were clad in light weight blue jeans. I wore wool socks in my hiking shoes.

I was cold. It was a bit windy. I started trucking. Within a half mile I was perfectly comfortable. Within a half mile my body wanted to run. The orthotics in my shoes made it feel like I was being propelled down the street. Even so, I resisted the urge. Running would almost certainly mess up my gimpy lower back.

There’s one thing you can say about the suburbs and you can’t sugarcoat it: suburbs are boring, especially when nobody is out and about. I was walking for 2 hours and saw one person outside who was not in a car. One.

Another thing you can say about suburbs like the Fort Hunt area of Fairfax County where I live is the good folks at VDOT have absolutely no clue about pedestrians. In someplaces there is a concrete sidewalk. In others there is an asphalt path, typically bulging with tree roots. In others still the sidewalk disappears. And sometimes when the sidewalk disappears there is no shoulder to walk on. That means you get to walk in the road on busy, narrow streets like Fort Hunt Road. VDOT it seems is all about cars.

I had nowhere to go and didn’t need to get there at any particular time. I tried my best not to think about work or people or anything in particular. Many years ago when I was a runner, this was what completely turned me on about running. I could just turn off the chatter in my head and go on autopilot. When I was in really good shape, I’d do what I called run from the hips. This meant that my stride was automatic, almost robotic, effortless. When you get to this point running becomes moving meditation. It’s prettty awesome.

So that’s what I was striving for. I can’t say I was successful. You can’t really zone out when you’re worried about getting run over by a Subaru. But I tried.

My speed slowed a bit after three miles. I started running over work stuff in my head. After about a half mile of that I refocused on not focusing (if that makes any sense). I made my way to a deli and bought lunch to go. Then I trucked the rest of the way home. When I arrived the thermometer said it was 26 degrees. Bangor tanning weather.

It wasn’t as good as a walk in the woods or a bike ride on country roads on a sunny summer day, but it served it’s purpose. It got my outside. I broke a sweat. I calmed my mind.

Falling into Winter

A step in the night and she is gone

Awash in his demons and he is gone

A peck on the cheek and she is gone

The turn of a key and he is gone

BItter rage and she is gone

“Happiness is love.”

Smiling with a faraway stare

“Nobody loves you”

Merry Christmas. You are not alone

“A pebble makes a difference”

Happy New Year.

A paper lantern rises in the black of night

“I’ll do”

And They’re Off

Today was the first bike commute of the year. Yay, me. I rode in after sunrise because I waited for my daughter to leave for the airport before starting out. I was rewarded with a big hug and a relentless headwind. The hug lasted 10 seconds, the headwind lasted 14 1/2 miles.

At lunchtime I went out with some co-workers which is something I rarely do. We went to a Thai restaurant. The last time ate Thai food was 1980. I kid you not. The 1980 Thai food was fire in my mouth. Today’s was much tamer. It was good but it didn’t stick to my ribs.

One the way to the Thai restaurant a co-worker pointed out a garage with a historical marker. It’s where Bob Woodward met “Deep Throat” during the Watergate scandal. This marker is within 100 yards of a marker commemorating the begining of the ARPA net, the precursor to the Internet. Who would have thought that lousy Rosslyn is the home of two incredibly important events in recent history?

During the day a friend announced that she is going on a vacation for a couple of weeks. She doesn’t currently have a job. Hmmmmm…….

When I left work there was still some daylight. Yesss!

Then I got to the Custis trail and it had been sprayed with de-icer. Way to go Arlington County!! Of course, when I got to the Mount Vernon Trail it was untreated because it is under the jurisdiction of the National Park Service. Boo, NPS!!

The ride home was a breeze. Literally. The morning’s headwind was now at my back and the riding was effortless. Passing over Four Mile Run I noticed that Arlington County had treated the Four Mile Run Trail too. Yay, again.

Tomorrow we expect the first snow fall of the season. As luck would have it I have an appointment with my acupuncturist so I am driving to work. Barring a medical miracle it will be the last. The treatments are having no effect at all. Even my arm is starting to hurt again.

And Wednesday promises to be brutally cold. I am going to miss the fun of bike commuting because I need my car to get to an early evening event in McLean.

I plan to be back in the saddle (if the Mount Vernon Trail is clear) on Thursday.

A Beautiful Ending

One of the joys of riding my bike to work is seeing the sun rise over the Potomac River. This morning’s did not disappoint. It stopped me in my tracks on the Dyke Marsh boardwalk on the Mount Vernon Trail.

Despite temperatures in the 20s and a headwind I made it to work very comfortably. We were released early for the holiday and the ride home in daylight was a treat.

It’s days like these that I so appreciate my commutes along the Potomac River. I am so lucky to have such a beautiful commute. My commute is my time alone. Sometimes my mind drifts. Other times I have a conversation with myself, often aloud to the amusement of commuters riding past. Call it meditation or therapy, I’d be lost without it.

I’m not one for making New Year’s resolutions. I’ll ride a lot doing my utmost to avoid big metal things. Hopefully, I will hike a lot more. And, of course, root for the Nats. I do hope that my friends in the DC area join me on these adventures, as so many did in 2014. I intend to give 2015 everything I’ve got. You should too. Happy New Year and thanks for reading.