Autumn DC Bikeabout

It is Fall and an election year so what better time to go biking in and around DC, right? On Monday, I rode up to DC to check out the poop statue. Some sarcastic artists had placed a work of whimsy on the National Mall just west of the Capitol. It depicted Nancy Pelosi’s desk on a pedestal. On the desk was a note pad, a phone, and a pile of poo. The plaque on the statue explained that display commemorated the “patriots” who stormed the Capitol building on January 6, 2021.

When I arrived home, I learned that the same artists had erected another statue. This one was in Freedom Plaza on Pennsylvania Avenue between the Capitol and the White House. This statue was of a tiki torch held up by a fist. It’s plaque describe how this torch memorialized the “very good people” who marched through the campus of the University of Virginia in Charlottesville chanting “Jews will not replace us.”

(A few hours ago, I learned of a third statue in Philadelphia. It depicted Donald Trump standing behind an abstract statue of a nude woman to )the ex-president’s remarks about and behavior toward women.)

Before I left, a Georgetown grad student asked me how international politics would affect my vote this year. I said it didn’t. I told her that I voted for someone who understands that climate change is real, that law enforcement officers don’t belong in my daughter’s doctor’s office, that international alliances and commitments are to be honored, that public health officials should be listened to, and so on.

Interview over, I rode the Pennsyvania Avenue cycletrack back to 15th Street through police barricades and onto its cycletrack. There I saw temporary ten-foot-tall fencing running the length of the street and around the corner on Constitution Avenue. Along the curb were dozens of dump trucks and other huge vehicles forming a wall to protect the Ellipse where Kamala Harris was to give a speech in a few hours.

Constitution Avenue at the Ellipse hours before the speech

I rode west on Constitution then up Virginia Avenue on its cycletrack. (DC license plates should say: I’d rather be riding in a cycletrack.) At Rock Creek Parkway I took a right and followed the paved trail several miles up into Rock Creek Park. Can you say “foliage”? There were two things that detracted from the ride. The security arrangements near the White House had caused traffic to back up on the Parkway for two miles. Man were those drivers unhappy. When I reached the point where cars were prohibited from using the roadway I noticed that the water in the creek was very low. It has been four weeks since we had measurable rainfall in DC. All this good weather is wearing my bicycling butt out!

I rode up out of the park on Sherril Drive then across the Tacoma and Brightwood Park to the Metropolitan Branch Trail. The MBT took me straight back to Capitol Hill but not before hearing someone call my name (again!) at at Alethia Tanner Park. It was Kevin from the 50 States/Cider rides posses. We chatted for a half hour before I continued south, riding straight across Capitol Hill to the Wharf area, bypassing the thousands working their way to the Ellipse event.

I crossed back into Virginia and took the Mount Vernon Trail and a connector trail to Fort Hunt Road and US 1. I turned south on Fort Hunt Road, a two-lane suburban byway. After a quarter mile a started passing a line of cars inching along for what turned out to be about four miles. Bumper to bumper. US 1 was closed by downed power lines and traffic was diverted to Fort Hunt. I felt sorry for the drivers as I passed car after car after car after car working their way back to Route 1. Sucks for you, folks. To their credit, the drivers stayed in their lane and out of the bike lane on Sherwood Hall Lane near my home.

Route 1 closed. The line of traffic continued from the “o” in Hollindale all the back to Route 1 near Costco

So many leaves. So many people. So many cars. That’s DC in the Fall during an election year.

Update on the rider who crashed

I mentioned in passing the rider who crashed during Saturday’s Great Pumpkin Ride at Kelly’s Ford. As I rode past I sensed that it was bad and hoped that it wasn’t. Here’s a note from the ride organizer:

“The cyclist involved in Saturday’s incident on Sumerduck Road who was medevaced remains in critical condition and in Intensive Care at a local trauma center here in Virginia. He has suffered numerous severe injuries that will make for a long recovery ahead. He is responsive and communicating with his loved ones.”

Colors

It seemed like only last week that all the trees were green. That’s because it was only last week when all the trees were green. This week I rode over to Fort Hunt Park and the maple trees along the park’s ring road were on fire. All at once, too.

This time of year makes dressing for rides a challenge. Some days it’s a long-sleeved shirt with a vest and shorts; others, it’s the dreaded long pants and layers. Until standard time begins next week, rides to Friday Coffee Club begin in the cold and dark. One day I rode with regular bicycling gloves and my hands were frozen. This past Friday I broke out my lobster gloves. Comfy.

I’ve also begun to add in longer rides. Last Wednesday my wife dropped me off in Purcellville, Virginia for my third one-way ride home of the year. The Tank and I followed the W&OD Trail 45 miles to its eastern terminus near Shirlington. On net, the W&OD has about 500 feet of elevation loss so this is a relatively easy ride. Along the way, I stopped at Bikes at Vienna to chat with Tim and Beth, and to buy a couple of bike supplies and admire Tim’s self made touring bike. Nice. After Shirlington, I took the Four Mile Run Trail to the Mount Vernon Trail at National Airport. The MVT took nearly all the way home. Over 50 miles with virtually no cars. Not bad.

Yesterday, I rode the Great Pumpkin Ride for the umpteenth time. This 60-mile loop traverses the rolling hills of the Virginia Piedmont in Fauquier County, about 50 miles west of DC. As always, the first ten miles (for me) were a warm up. This involved seeing scores of lycra-clad roadies zoom past me. After ten miles and with the aid of a 20 – 25 mile per hour tailwind I picked up the pace, zipping along on The Mule at about 17 miles per hour. Big fun.

After a pit stop at mile 20 (half a PB&J and a handful of M&Ms), I struggled with my breathing so I stopped and took a shot of albuterol sulfate. That did the trick. I was back up to speed only to turn into that lovely tailwind and start the real work of the day.

At about 35 miles, the road goes down a curvy, steep hill to Kelly’s Ford. I am sure I broke 35 miles per hour on the descent (never look at the speedometer when descending). At the bridge at the bottom of the hill, some of the lycras were standing around. In the middle of the road, there was a fellow lycra rider lying motionless on his side. No bueno. Confident that help was on its way, I carried on. Within a minute I could hear the first sirens. A sheriff, an ambulance, a fire truck, another ambulance, another fire truck. Better too many than too few, I suppose.

As I rolled through Remington at the 40-mile mark, I decided to pass up the pit stop and continue into the wind. Fallow fields, fall foliage, large Trump signs. Over and over.

With eight miles left I passed another pit stop at a brewery. Having stayed up until midnight to watch Freddy Freeman crush the Yankees with a walk-off grand slam in Game 1 of the World Series, I decided that adding even a small amount of alcohol to my system was not a good idea.

The last eight miles were slightly uphill into the wind but I was in pretty good shape at the finish. I decided to drive home and take a well-deserved nap before Game 2. I bought some snacks and Diet Pepsi for the drive. Despite the caffeine infusion I started to nod off behind the wheel on I-66. I suspect my leaf mold allergies were kicking in. I rolled down the window and turned up the radio. Thankfully, I made it home without any problems. Next time, espresso!

At home I put The Mule away, unloaded the car, and hit the couch. Two and half hours later I woke up, in time for the first pitch of Game 2. Dang.

Today after nine hours of sleep, I rode Big Nellie on a recovery ride in the pleasant autumn air. We are near peak in my neck of the woods so it was a pretty ride. I took my time and avoided any nasty climbs. The ride and post-ride back exercises did me good.

Next Saturday will likely be my last long ride of the year, the Washington Area Bicyclists Association’s Cider Ride. The posse is a bit smaller due to scheduling conflicts and injuries but we will ride because there are donuts and pie and cider to be consumed and somebody’s got to do it!

In previous posts this summer, I mentioned a couple of encounters with strangers that I found disturbing. People I didn’t know seemed to know me, even to know my name, as I rode by. It happened again twice this month. One day I was riding home on the Mount Vernon Trail just south of Alexandria when I rider passing in the opposite direction said “Hi John.” I was in my usual riding trance so the words didn’t immediately register. Then yesterday in a neighborhood I rarely ride in, I passed a couple walking in the street. As I went by I heard the man say, “Is that John?” (How many Johns ride recumbents in you neighborhood?) I continued to the turn around at the end of the street and headed back but they were gone. Four times in one year is starting to creep me out.

My episodic life

Episode 1: Yesterday I completed the project to clear the perimeter garden in my backyard. Stumps gone. Vines gone. All that was left was to spread some mulch over sections that my previous efforts had laid bare. On a bike ride the other day I noticed a landscaper’s employee moving mulch in a wheel barrow. Instead of facing the load and pushing, he faced away from the load and pulled. I tried it. Much easier as long as you don’t tip the load.

When I was a kid I played in the woods near home. (Sadly, they no longer exist.) Every summer I’d get into some poison ivy and spend weeks covered in So Help Me Hannah. I was told not to go into the swimming pool because I could spread the rash. In my mid-twenties I spent a summer in California. I house sat in Oakland and came into contact with poison oak. In no time, I was covered in a rash. My housemates did a quick overnight road trip to Yosemite but I passed on it to avoid spreading my rash.

Of course, now I know that you can’t spread the rash to other people (as long as you change your clothes after coming in contact with the plants).

As I write this, I have a rash over my hands, forearms, face, and crotch. (Never take a leak while yanking vines from the garden!) Feels like old times.

Episode 2: I was hoping to do a van-supported ride on the Natchez Trace Parkway this fall. I was put off by the cost (something like $3,400) and the driving. I would have had to drive at least ten hours to Nashville a few days after driving for 25 hours to, from, and within southern New England over four days. I opted out of the ride.

As it turned out, I lucked out. First, the hurricane that hit Appalachia would have cause a detour of at least two hours to get to Nashville. Second, a few days before I would have left, my neighbor backed into my car. And that’s not all. Yesterday I learned that the price of the tour in 2025 has been reduced to $2,400. Good things happen to those who wait.

Episode 3: Haven’t you ever dreamed of being a bird? After you wake up you fly to the nearest bird feeder, swoop down, and fill your tummy without a care in the world. Or so you thought. RIP mourning dove. I hope you enjoyed your breakfast.

Episode 4: There’s a house about four miles from home that has a whimsical sign by the side of the road. They change the sign monthly. This was the most recent.

The relevance of the bottom sign escapes me. Maybe these folks are from Oz.

Back to Rootchopping

My retirement plan is simple: ride 30 miles and do one adult thing every day. Sometimes not so much. The first week of October included only 38 miles of riding. One trip was 7 1/2 miles from an auto body shop to home. My parked Accord was no match for my neighbor’s pathetic three-point-turning skills and his humongous pick up truck. The second ride was a mental-health 30-miler on Big Nellie through the neighborhoods near home.

The rest of the first week of October involved a four-day trip to New England. We visited my daughter in her new digs in southeastern Connecticut and attended a wedding on the north shore of Massachusetts.

We spent about 25 hours in the car along the oh so relaxing I-95 car sewer. Thankfully, my wife handled the passages through New York City or I’d be in the nervous hospital today. By the time we arrived back home, both my head and my back were wrecked.

What better time than to return to work on the yard project from hell. About a month ago, a tree service took down a maple tree in our front yard. The tree was in bad shape at the start of the summer and a series of week-long heat waves and a nest of carpenter ants did it in. In addition to felling the tree, the tree dudes ground the stump and cleared out some small privet trees, bushes, and vines clogging a perimeter garden in our back yard.

For several days in September I excavated the mulch from the stump and moved it to my backyard. Then I bought twenty bags of dirt from a home center and spread it where the mulch had been. I planted grass seed and watered it religiously. Alas, the grass seed I bought was apparently of the atheist variety of fescue and barely grew.

Turning my talents to the perimeter garden I cleared out a bunch of surface vines and began removing some small stumps. Four stumps came right out of the ground with some persuasion from a spade. A fifth stump took a bit more convincing, and about three hours of work.

Just before leaving for New England I started working on the biggest stump which was oh so conveniently situated next to my neighbor’s chain link fence. I spent about four or five hours digging and hacking and digging and hacking to no avail.

After returning from New England I returned to the stump. With more digging and hacking, I discovered that the roots of the stump were intertwined with some massive tree roots and dozens of fist sized rocks. Oh joy.

Dig. Hack. Dig. Hack.

It would not budge.

Yesterday, I found a nasty looking four-foot crowbar in the basement and brought that to the task. Within 30 minutes the stump surrendered. Halleluiah.

The only problem now was that the root ball was two feet down in a hole and weighed about 50 pounds. My efforts had left my back a complete mess so lifting the beast out of the hole was out of the question. I spent another half hour using a small shovel to knock rocks and clay out of the root ball. Once relieved of its anchors, the root ball agreed to come out of the hole.

Now that the stump was gone, I had to shovel all the excavated dirt back into the hole. Ugh.

After I hauled my nemesis away, I found that I could not stand up straight. All the digging and yanking and prying and lifting and shoveling did not agree with my lumbar stenosis. Imagine that! I was bent at the waist rather painfully and involuntarily. I was a hurtin’ unit.

I rested a bit and decided that I might as well apply my crippled body to another small stump along the fence. I am a gardening genius.

I was expecting my shovel to pop this one out of the ground in no time. The stump had other ideas. Another struggle ensued but thankfully this one lasted only another hour.

It was a three Advil evening.

I have some more vines and very small shovel-worthy stumps to work on tomorrow. Then I’ll take all that maple mulch and spread it over the garden in the hopes of suffocating any opportunistic weeds.

Take that mother nature.

And after all this, I will garden no more forever.

Two stumps after way too much effort. Do not try this at home.

September 2024 – Wet/Nice/Wet

The weather in September 2024 in the mid-Atlantic suffered from bipolar disorder. It started out rainy but then we were treated two two weeks of gorgeous weather. The last two weeks have been a washout. Fortunately for me, when it rains this time of year, the droplets are warm. Riding in the rain has actually been kind of pleasant.

Biking

With both The Mule and The Tank back from the bike shop, I was ready to ride my steeds into autumn. During the nice weather weeks, I did a 56-mile ride in the Virginia Piedmont. I wasn’t feeling all that strong at the start but I listened to Mitch McConnell and I persisted. I was aided by a MASSIVE club sandwich at a country store in Orlean at the 20-mile mark. The climb up Naked Mountain was pretty tough, even with the new, lower gearing on The Mule. The traffic and rumble strips on US Highways 17 and 50 was nasty but I had a good time regardless. I followed this ride with a couple of 40+ mile rides, one on The Mule near Middleburg, Virginia and the other on The Tank in Talbot County, Maryland. The latter featured me running out of gas on the drive to the start and a pleasant 10-minute ferry ride.

Otherwise I solved my where-will-I-ride-today problems by running errands by bike. My bikes took me to a building supply place in suburban car hell, to a pharmacy to get a flu shot, to the polls to vote, to a diner to have breakfast with my wife, to Nats Park three times, to Friday Coffee Club four times, on a fruitless search for the best Italian sub in DC, and on a tour of auto body shops to find a good place to take my car (my neighbor backed into my car with his big pick up truck a couple of days ago).

The Washington Area Bicyclist Association’s 50 States Ride came around on the calendar and I was once again joined by a fabulous posse. This year we had Michael, Kevin, Chris, and Sara back from last year and several new additions. New friends of the posse included Neena, Richard, Imogen, Wolfgang. Mac, Constance and, at the next to last pit stop special guest John. This was my 16th 50SR and one of the toughest. Many of us will be riding together on the WABA Cider Ride in early November. There will be pie.

For the month I logged 940 miles, my first sub-1,000-mile month since May. I will begin October with 7,945 miles for the year. If I average a little over 22 miles a day until the end of December, I’ll break 10,000-mile mark for the seventh straight year.

Watching

Baseball – The Nationals closed out the season by bringing up a bunch of young players from the minors. And the results were pretty much as expected. Mediocrity. The best thing the Nats have going for them is the bike valet at the ballpark, conveniently located 15 miles from home.

Movies – Monsieur Spade is a six-part noir mini-series in which an old Sam Spade gets involved in shenanigans in a French town. Everyone is trying to find a young boy, but why? Like the Maltese Falcon, the boy is a classic McGuffin. Clive Owen plays Spade. Understanding the plot requires some knowledge of French involvement in Algeria in the 1950s. Unfortunately, this info isn’t provided until the next to last episode.

From Russia with Lev – A documentary about how a Ukrainian grifter became an intermediary for Rudy Giuliani and Donald Trump in Ukraine, helped Trump get impeached, and destroyed himself and many others in the process. Absolutely fascinating how a nobody could become a close associate of an incompetent and corrupt president.

VIdeos – I looked forward to the end of each week to watch the latest installment of Mat Ryder‘s ride across the country.

Reading

North Woods by Daniel Mason. The tale of events in a single home somewhere in western Massachusetts. The story begins in the 1600s and continues episodically into the 21st Century. Along the way, it touches on aspects of American history including the Puritans, apple farming, abolitionism, murder, lobotomies, the loss of native flora and fauna, and more. Sound weird? It’s not. A very fine book.

The Last Murder at the End of the World by Stuart Turton. This one’s a whodunit set on a island after an apocalyptic event. Rather than explain why, let’s just say this one wasn’t my cup of tea. After 200 pages and dozens of red herrings, I could not have cared less who did the murder or why.

What fools these bicyclists be – 50 States 2024

Saturday was the Washington Area Bicyclists Association’s annual big fundraising event: the 50 States Ride. The ride is a triumph of marketing over sanity. Participants pay $80 to ride 60 hilly miles in the heat and humidity (when it’s not raining), all within the eight wards of the District of Columbia. Did I mention that the streets are open to traffic? We’re havin’ fun now!

This year was the 21st running of the 50 States and my 16th time participating. I’ve been riding WABA events with Chris, Michael, and Kevin for several years now. Remarkably they have not grown tired of my company. A couple of years ago Chris invited Sara with whom he worked. The five of us form the core members of the posse. (Domitille, a sixth recent member, had to miss this year’s ride due to injury. We hope to have her back in the fold for WABA’s Cider Ride in November.) Our posse members invite others to join us. This year Chris invited Isabon, Sara invited Jenna and Richard, Kevin invited Neena. Isabon brought her father, Wolfgang. Monica, who rode the last couple of rides with us, decided to volunteer at a pit stop but sent along Constance and Mac.

The course changes every year. Lately it has gone clockwise around the city. The course is tweaked to show off new bicycle infrastructure, sponsors’ projects, and changes to the cityscape. Having done this ride since 2006, I can attest to the fact that DC today is vastly different than it was 18 years ago.

The dozen of us lit out from the start in the Edgewood neighborhood smack dab in the middle of DC. We timed our departure to avoid other groups whom the ride organizers send out at intervals with ride marshals. We don’t mean to be antisocial but when you get over 20 people of different skill levels riding together in the city the congestion can get stressful. There were a few miles where we were bunched up with other groups but by and large we were successful riding as an independent unit. As is often the case, we adopted a couple of course marshals, Micah and Stephen, along the way. At the rest stop around 45 miles into the ride I was greeted by an old friend. John is the father of one of my son’s best friends from high school. He was riding the event for the first time and looked considerably fresher than me.

Two Johns at the Wegman’s pit stop in Northwest.

Michael decided to ride the entire ride on bikeshare bikes. Every so often he’d veer off course to trade in his bike for another. I think he gets some sort of points from the bikeshare folks and avoids rental charges. He managed to obtain electric assist bikes for the hillier sections. We hate Michael.

Chris told me that his GPS file indicated there are 11 significant climbs along the route. I counted 45, a triumph of misery over digital mapping science. The worst climb goes one steep mile from MacArthur Boulevard to Macomb Street in the northwest section of the city. After a brief downhill, this monstrosity is followed by a second, soul-sucking half-mile climb up Cathedral Heights. Six miles later we descended into Rock Creek Park only to climb right back out for a mile. Dang.

Instead of using the digital file, I use the paper cue sheet. Actually, it’s a 18-page booklet containing nearly 270 cues. This virtually ensures that I will make a wrong turn. This year I set a PR, making four wrong turns. (Actually one was semi-intentional as I saw three of our riders obeying the GPS audio instruction and turning a block early and going off route. I followed them in order to lead them back to the course.) Ironically, earlier in the ride after we crossed over the Washington Channel, a course marshal made a wrong turn entering East Potomac Park. I ignored the error and stayed on route. The Mule abides.

The clockwise course seemed somehow hillier than in prior years. I struggled for most of the ride even though The Mule had a new, lower climbing gear thanks to Beth at Bikes at Vienna. It may have just been the heat (mid-80s) and humidity at work or perhaps the fact that I’m old, decrepit, and grumpy.

By 58 miles I had had enough. We could have gone straight to the finish but the course meandered through the campus of The Catholic University, along the super nice cycletrack on Irving Avenue Northwest, and past the bizarre looking McMillan Sand Filtration site which is being developed into a mixed used community by one of the event sponsors. After McMillan we had a tedious one-mile ride in heavy traffic to loop back to the finish.

After the ride, the posse hung out at the after party which, owing to our slow riding pace, was all but over. Still we ate some sammies and hydrated our weary bodies. (I went all Stanley Kowalski and had a Stella.) I guess the ride was a success because several posse members expressed an interest in doing the (considerably easier) 60-mile Cider Ride in November. Well done, y’all.

Most of the posse after the ride. Clockwise from left: Richard, Chris, Me, Sara, Michael, Constance, Mac, Jenna, Micah, Kevin, Neena.

Many thanks to all the volunteers and WABA staff for all their hard work on this event. Special thanks to Mike and Lisa who convert their home in Tacoma into a very welcoming pit stop every year. And to Patti Heck who stood at the corner of Alaska Avenue and Geranium Street Northwest to take photos (links above) of riders as she has done for many years now.

Gassed and Windblown

With the prospect of several days of rain ahead, I decided to drive over to Easton, Maryland to do a ride on level ground. The ride would include cool grave yards, colonial era towns, a ferry, and corn and soy fields. Most importantly there would be no hills.

There being no hills, I opted for The Tank, my Surly Crosscheck. This bike is heavy and, despite a recent modification to its gearing, is best used on this kind of terrain.

I have put about 1,000 miles on my 2009 Honda Accord this year. The last time I bought gas it cost me about $3.70 per gallon. My wife, who drives considerably more, has been telling me about finding gas for under $3.00. With a fuel gauge indicating I had a tad less than 1/8th of a tank, I headed out to the Eastern Shore of Maryland in search of cheap fuel. No problem. My gas tank holds 19 1/2 gallons.

By the time I reached the Bay Bridge, I had gone about 50 miles. My fuel gauge indicated that my tank was empty but, as we all know, the needle on the fuel gauge always goes below empty before the tank is truly empty, right?

I made it over the Bay Bridge and started scouting out a gas bargain. I passed a dozen gas stations, all of which had prices in the high $2.90s. With the needle in the empty, red zone, I continued on. Some basic math indicated that I should have plenty of fuel left. As the highway turned toward Easton, I passed a gas station that was partially obscured by some box trucks. No worries, I’ll just go to the next one.

There wasn’t another station for over 20 miles.

With the station in sight on the opposite side of the divided highway, I was about to change lanes to turn toward it when my car said, “Not today”. The engine sputtered once then cut out. Did you know that cars lose speed remarkably quickly when they run out of fuel. A total car bonk! The traffic behind me not so much.

I looked to the right and saw that there was no shoulder, only a drainage ditch. Eek.

Luckily the turn for the gas station was at a signalized intersection with right and left turn lanes. I guided the car into the right turn lane and rolled to a depressing stop.

With my emergency flashers on, I decide to hoof it to the station. I emptied one of my three water bottles to use as a gas container and started out. Cars were lining up at the red light. A white SUV rolled up and the driver asked me if I was okay. I explained my situation and he asked, “Would you like a gas can?”

Yeah, buddy.

He turned onto the road to the right, stopped, and pulled a small gas can out of the back of his hatchback. I thanked him profusely and told him I’d be back in a few minutes. After a long wait to cross the highway at the light, I made it to the gas station, bought about 2 gallons of fuel and headed back to my car.

On the way back, a passenger in a different car waiting at the red light leaned out the window and said something like “I hope your day gets better.” Despite the hassle of running out of gas, I realized at that moment that I wasn’t the least bit upset. After all, I had been driving for 52 years and this was the first time I had run out of gas.

My car, and my bike on a rack on the rear, thankfully, had not been rear ended. I decanted the gas into the gas tank then drove to the side street to return the can. The SUV was nowhere to be found. I stood around holding the orange/red gas can high so that perhaps my Good Samaritan would see me. No luck. In the end I drove off to Easton with an empty gas can and some heartfelt gratitude.

Once in Easton I saw a sign for $2.85 gas. Yes! When I got to the pump, I saw that it was a special rate for Royal Farms club members. I being a Royal Farms philistine paid $2.97. When karma meets irony, you pay the man, Shirley.

As for the ride, it was a tad shorter than planned. I stitched the ride together from the excellent brochure from Talbot County (of which Easton is the county seat). The brochure shows six rides of between 26 and 38 miles. Color coded maps and cue sheets are included. And one master map shows all six rides. I started on the blue route, switched to the brown route, then planned to finish on the green route.

The first 15 miles on the blue route featured a strong tailwind out of the east. I zoomed from Easton to Saint Michaels with ease. After meandering in Saint Michaels for a while, I headed east into the wind, crossing the Tred Avon River on the Bellevue-Oxford ferry. From Oxford I continued east, switching to the brown route, a tour of interesting old graveyards. Along the way, I watched farmers in their big corn harvesting machines taking in the last crop of the season. The machines look like massive green barber shears on wheels.

At Dover Road I turned to join the green route, a tour of more farms, mostly soy and corn. Somehow I managed to miss a turn and ended up on a highway that would cross the Choptank River. I checked the Google and realized that crossing the river would add about several windy miles to my ride.

Having already ridden about 20 miles into a strong headwind, I decided to pack it in and reversed course back to Easton, going off route in the interest of exploring some backroads. It was a good decision. Forty one windy miles was enough for me on this day.

I highly recommend the brochure. If you are looking to get away from the city and want some easy, low-stress riding, Talbot County is a good choice. The ferry ride is my favorite, but make sure to check the ferry schedule. Also, bring cash for the $7 one-way fare.

When there are no cars waiting, bicyclists and pedestrians can summon the Bellevue-Oxford ferry with this signal

New pavement, pine needles, no traffic. Works for me.

Two weeks going local

It’s been two weeks since I took a day off my bikes so, despite today’s perfect weather, I’m chilling. Here’s a recap of some recent excursions.

September 1: I rode Little Nellie to the Nationals game against the Cubs. Things went downhill right after Bill Nye, the science guy, announced “PLAY BALL”. The Nats lost 14 to 1 but the ride was nice.

September 2, Labor Day: I read about a shop on Capitol Hill that sells the best Italian sub in the area. I lit out on The Mule in search of sammie perfection. Sadly, the shop was closed for the holiday. Not to waste a day in the city, I rode a few miles north to Dave’s ghost bike at the corner of Florida and 12th Street NE. The bike marks were Dave was killed by the driver of a stolen van in 2019. When I arrived the bike wasn’t there. As I moved closer I saw that it had been moved a bit up the street during a sidewalk renovation project. Ironically, the city removed the protected bike lanes on Florida during the work. Next, I rode Florida across town to Meridian Hill Park in Adams Morgan. The park was filled with people relaxing in the gorgeous sunny weather. This not being Sunday, the noisy drum circle was not playing. Yay, for quiet in the city! I rode home via Rock Creek Park and the Mount Vernon Trail.

Statue of Joan of Arclooking out over DC from Meridian Hill Park

September 3: I once had a book called the Washington Area Bicyclists Atlas. It contained a few dozen cues sheets and maps of rides in and around DC. In photocopying the rides, I destroyed the binding and the book fell apart. I did keep the cue sheets and maps from a few rides. The Mule and I did the 56-mile Pedaling the Piedmont ride. The ride starts in Marshall, Virginia and heads ten miles south on windy country roads. The route turns north for a 20-mile leg along the base of the Blue Ridge on Hume Road. I stopped at a country store for lunch, an amazing, thick club sandwich. I made my way back to the start via Naked Mountain, a rather difficult five-mile climb, and around Sky Meadows State Park on bust US 17. The last few miles were through Rectortown on a stupifyingly pretty country road. The new, lower-geared cassette on The Mule passed the hill test. This was my first ride wearing a vest since May.

September 4: The Mule and did a 32-mile recovery ride in the neighborhoods near home. We finished at the Safeway near home where I received my 2025 flu shot.

September 5: Another easy 30-mile local ride on The Mule followed by re-seeding an area of the back yard lawn that was fried during the summer’s multiple heat waves. I topped the day off with my latest Covid-19 shot.

September 6: The shot or maybe some Diet Coke at 7 p.m. ruined my sleep. I rode The Mule in a mental fog 15 miles to Friday Coffee Club in DC. Sleepless rides aren’t very fun but I got my 30 miles in for the day.

September 7: The Mule and I rode the Virginia Hunt Country ride from the Atlas. This one is to north of the Piedmont ride through The Plains and Middleburg. Although there were clear skies at home, a storm front passed through the ride area about 40 miles to the west. A helpful clerk at gas station convenience store in The Plains gave me a garbage bag that I converted into a makeshift rain vest. Worked like a charm. The Mule and I endured cool rain for two hours and were rewarded by two hours of weather bliss and a tailwind for the last half of the 45-mile jaunt.

September 8: I mowed the lawn and dug up a tree stump in the morning, expecting to take the day off from riding, but Beth at Bikes at Vienna contacted me to say that The Tank was ready for pick up from its annual maintenance at the B@V bike spa. I took the bike out for a test ride to check out its new smaller chainring and wider cassette, giving me, according to Beth, a low gear that was more than 16 percent lower than before. (From 40 inches to 27 inches for you gear heads.) The test ride on the Washington and Old Dominion trail ended up being a 30-miler, with the second half being wind aided. The lower gears will definitely be a real help to my back and knees.

Dog Days of a More Peaceful Sort – August 2024

It’s dark when I awaken now. The heat is backing off with the daylight. (With the exception of a 100-degree day on August 28.) The local school district cruelly sends kids back to school on August 19. I don’t think I ever started school before Labor Day. What’s worse is my birthday falls in the middle of August. I grew to dread it because there were only a couple of weeks left to summer vacation.

Around the time I turned 10 both my grandmothers and my godmother died in August and September. Ten-year olds don’t understand death, except for what they tell you in church. I spent several weeks bewildered by it all.

Relatives were giving me gifts at my paternal grandmother’s house before the wake. It was doubly weird since they had bought gifts, in an obviously distracted, perfunctory way, for a much younger kid. As I opened each gift, I “Thank you” while my brain was saying, “What am I supposed to do with this stuff?”

It was around this age that I got fat. Back to school shopping meant new clothing. My size was Husky. Really.

As for these days, I am now 69. Lord knows how that happened. My 68th and 69th years were the ones where my body decided that I was old. Bike touring became much harder. Going forward, I’ll have to modify my daily touring routine. No more 70-mile days in the mountains. Or on level ground, for that matter. During my 2022 tour to the Oregon coast, I encountered a man riding east somewhere near the Oregon/Idaho border. He was 70. He said that when you are young bike touring is fun; when you are 70, it’s work. Truth.

Bicycling

Despite my weary flesh, I still managed to bang out a 1,014-mile month. This was helped greatly by the fact that I did not take the last week of August off to help my daughter move in Connecticut. We hired movers for the big stuff. My days of lugging furniture down three flights of stairs are over. I stayed home and chopped roots and dug dirt for several days instead. I think my days of rootchopping are over too.

I did three rides of 60 miles or more. I took three zero day. I ended the month with 7,000.5 miles under my wheels. I’m on track for another 10,000-mile year.

Watching

Olympics: My wife doesn’t care much for sports but when the Olympics are on TV she becomes obsessed. I find them boring except for the truly exceptional athletes like Biles and Ledecky.

Movie: Hit Man – Netflix movie directed by Richard Linklater. Basically a star vehicle for Glen Powell, the leading man du jour. A funny, clever movie. Alas, Powell ain’t no Brad Pitt.

Baseball: The Nationals, fresh off another sell-off of talented veterans, played to their talent level. They have three or four very good young players – Garcia, Abrams, Wood, and Young – and a ton of talented young pitchers. At the end of the month they added Dylan Crews who seems like the real deal. Now all they needs is a veteran who can show them how to win. This could take a couple of years.

Bike Touring Video: The near-real-time video account of Mat Ryder’s cross country ride fascinated me. This is partly because he covers, in reverse, much of the 1,000+ miles of the TransAmerica Trail that I rode in 2022.

Reading

The Demon of Unrest is Erik Larson’s latest. It is an intimate look at the people involved in the attack on Fort Sumter that kicked off the Civil War. If you think of the United States as a single entity, you’ll find it interesting how culturally and politically different antebellum South Carolina was. And they were fixing for a fight for years.

Going Infinite by Michael Lewis chronicles the improbable rise and bewildering fall of Sam Bankman-Fried. SBF is one odd duck with no capacity for appreciating risk aversion. That fact, combined with the complete lack of financial controls in the crypto businesses he spawned, led to a financial catastrophe when the crypto bubble (temporarily) burst a couple of years ago. If high functioning autistic genius and the exciting world of financial controls excite you, this book is for you. Zzzzz.

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