Category: recumbent

Paul to the Rescue Again

I took a day off yesterday after a  hilly 57-mile ride on Thursday and a 109-mile ride on Friday, both in hot and humid conditions. What I should have done was gone for a short, easy ride, but I mowed the lawn in oppressively swampy weather and took a chill pill for the rest of the day. As a result of this semi-off day, my legs felt tight and sore. Walking down stairs was a little difficult, not unlike the day after running a marathon. (Been there, done that, had to walk downstairs backwards back in the day.)

My plan for today was to go for a nice easy spin on Big Nellie and see where the bent gods took me. As I made my way into Old Town Alexandria, my legs loosened up considerably. I decided to hit a few bike shops to see if they could fix a problem with one of my pedals. On my recumbent I wear sandals and use PowerGrips. These are straps that go across the pedal diagonally. Normally I use toe clips (I am not a fan of clipless pedals) but nerve problems in my left foot led me to try PowerGrips in search of relief. They work reasonably well except that the strap on my right pedal is at a steep angle, and rubs against my toes. The one on my left pedal fits properly, only touching the outside of my pinkie toe. The reason for the discrepancy is that the pedals attached to a metal plate. The left plate looks like an old bottle opener, flat with a bend at the end. The right plate as a second bend in the middle causing it to extend out too far from the pedal.

I stopped at Wheel Nuts in north Old Town but they were closed. Seven miles down. I decided to try the Velocity bicycle co-op in Del Ray a few miles away. They had all kinds of junk parts (just what I thought I needed) but no plates for PowerGrips.

Twenty years ago, The Mule, my Specialized Sequoia, had a recurring problem: it’s headset (the part that the handlebars attach to) kept coming loose. NOBODY could fix it. After giving many mechanics a crack at the problem, I took the bike to Papillion Bicycles on Columbia Pike in Arlington. Bailey, the owner, couldn’t figure it out but he said try Paul at City Bikes. I called Paul and before I could finish my description of the problem he knew what was wrong. And he did. It needed a ten-cent washer that he happened to have among his two bazillion bike parts.

Paul is now the head mechanic at Bicycle Space in DC, so I decided to let him have a go at the pedal problem. Several miles later, Dr. Paul examined the patieDSCN2387nt. “You don’t need a new part. It looks like you bent this one in an accident.” Paul is also psychic. I did indeed crash the bike a year ago and came down on the right side!

He took the right pedal off, walked into a back room with a hammer in his hand and  began the operation. I was a little troubled by the hammer and the fact that he did not sterilize his hands before surgery. After a minute, he came back out, hammer in hand, took a look at the left pedal, and went back to the OR. A few whacks later  he came out and the pedal was exactly right. Dang,

 

With a smile on my face, I headed for home. Not wanting to go back the way I came, I decided to ride back via Anacostia. I picked rode east to 11th Street Northeast and took a right. I rode over the Anacostia River on the wicked awesome new 11th Street Bridge (such a clever name, no?). In Anacostia, 11th Street becomes Martin Luther King Junior Boulevard. The MLK (very L.A. sounding, don’t you think) is an interesting ride. There are signs of gentrification with new restaurants, cafes, condos and such. And there are the depressing signs of DC’s poorest neighborhoods with housing projects, job training places, and people handing out on the street corners. Along the way, I glanced at an electric sign outside a church. 104 degrees!!!

After the first hill, the MLK descends to cross busy South Capitol Street. Here the road surface becomes a washboard. At 25 miles per hour, it’s downright hairy. (DC needs to up its game with some serious roadwork on the MLK.) Once you get up a good head of steam, you are greeted by a red light at the bottom of the next hill. Argh!

From a dead stop, I climbed the next hill, slowly. At Blue Plains Drive I banged a right and headed down a steep hill, breaking the speed limit in front of the DC Police Academy in the process. I am a brazen scofflaw.

After a couple of left turns, I was on the Oxon Cove Trail. Park maintenance has gone by the wayside this year. Tufts of grass four or five inches tall protrude from all the cracks in the pavement. Grass on either side of the trail is two feet tall.

The trail and the park were completely empty. As I rode next to the cove, I spotted the remnants of an large bird of prey, either an eagle or a hawk. There were some big feathers and some bones but not much else; it had been picked clean.

The trail enters the grounds of Oxon Hill Farm DSCN2389where it turns away from the water and climbs, gradually at first, but steeper and steeper all the way to the top. I think this is the toughest hill in the area. On the way up I saw what looked like the hoof and lower leg from a young deer. Yikes!  A little further on, I spotted a beautiful feather, from a hawk or eagle. I stopped and put it in the flag slot on my Arkel seat back bag.

 

The steepest part of the hill remained so I yelled “Get ’em up, Scout” and started to ride. (I didn’t actually say that, but I am pissed that Johnny Depp has screwed with Tonto. Tarzan is Johnny Weissmuller. Avery Brooks is Hawk. Jay Silverheels is Tonto. That’s it. Don’t mess with my childhood icons. Okay, the new Star Trek actors are infinitely better than the old ones, but that’s an anomaly.)

After the monster climb, I got to ride down the crazy fun downhill toward National Harbor, then up the corkscrew hill to the bike path bridge over the beltway. (This corkscrew design is brilliant.)

Next I rode over the Woodrow Wilson Bridge (a good place to watch the fireworks in Old Town next Saturday night, by the way) and onto the Mount Vernon Trail. Then, for reasons that escape me, I rode up another nasty hill on Westgrove Boulevard. After a stop for a Gary’s Lunchbox sammich at Sherwood Hall Gourmet, I rode home.

What started as an easy spin evolved into a 37-mile hill fest. So much for my plan. At least, I got my pedal fixed. Thanks to Paul and Bicycle Space. It was worth the effort.

 

I’d ride a century for a Haute Dog

During the week, I am a mild mannered bike commuter. On four day weekends, I am El Velo Loco. I am also bent, as I am riding Big Nellie, my Tour Easy recumbent.

Yesterday, I decided to go exploring in southeastern Fairfax County. I spent about five hours riding up and down hills. I had intended to ride to Clifton Virginia, cross the Occoquan River and make my way home through Prince William County. I missed a turn. I rode by a prison. It’s been closed for ten years but the guard towers and walls are still there. I can’t imaging living near something like that. I ended up riding down to Mason Neck, an isolated part of Fairfax County. In the process, I rode down an old road that used to cross over the main railroad line on a single lane old wooden bridge. Nowadays, the bridge is blocked off. I went around the barricade and walked my bike over the span. The wood was weathered with ruts where car tires once drove. Southeastern Fairfax County used to have several one lane bridges, twisty roads with blind curves and hills.

Temperatures for this hill-fest topped out at 88 degrees and it was muggy to boot.  I was pleased with my riding though. I never felt uncomfortable and I had no trouble breathing.

Paul is a friend from grad school who occasionally does bike rides when he’s not playing hockey, softball, selling used CDs, DJing, or going to concerts. Oh, and he has a day job too. Paul told me about a new eatery called Haute Dogs and Fries that specializes in hot dogs (and fries). They have one location in Old Town Alexandria and another in Purcellville Virginia. The former is seven miles from my house; the latter is 55 miles away. Guess which one I rode to?

Aw, you’ve read this blog before have you?

I headed out to P’ville at 8:30. It was comfortable outside but I knew that would change. I lucked out with a strong breeze out of the east. I rode the Mount Vernon Trail to the Four Mile Run trail. On the way, I passed Nancy Duley who was veloworking again.

The wind pushed me along Four Mile Run until I picked up the Washington and Old Dominion Trail near Shirlington. 45 miles of mostly gradual uphill is a little like riding a false flat for 4 hours. It looks flat but there is a persistent incline most of the way. I spun away through Arlington, Falls Church, Dunn Loring, Vienna, Reston, Herndon, Sterling, Ashburn, Lessburg, Clarks Gap, Hamilton Station and finally P’ville. Along the way I stopped and topped off my water bottles at every opportunity. At 33 miles, I re-applied sun screen. I brought some snacks and munched away at them whenever my energy felt a little low,

The trail was surprisingly uncrowded. This might have had something to do with the heat and humidity. The temperature peaked at 91 degrees, but it was a wet heat. It was not a lot of fun when the sun broke through the clouds.

There were several stretches where the trail tilts downward as it goes west. I would crank it up to 20 miles per hour. By Leesburg, it was apparent that the tailwind was now coming from my left side. No worries. Pedal, pedal.

I arrived in P’ville around 1:30. After a stop in a bike shop where I inhaled a Gatorade, I made my way to Haute Dogs, in a new strip mall in town. There are several dogs with heavy toppings like chili, cheese, and hot peppers. After 5 hours in the heat, these did not sound appealing so I ordered a Fenway Dog (with relish, mustard and onions I think) and fries. The dog came on a grilled bun and the fries had some sort of seasoning. It was way good. So was the ice cold Coke. Nom nom.

Image

Back on the bike, I found that I now had a tailwind! Woo hoo! It varied a bit, but there was no doubt I’d get an assist most of the way home.

And that gradual uphill was now a gradual downhill. Suffice it to say, I spent a lot of time in my big ring. I continued to stop now and then for cold water and snacks. (I had a chocolate chip ice cream sandwich at a trailside barbecue place in Ashburn. Nutrition is important, you know,)

I’ve been riding the W&OD for a couple of decades. It’s amazing how much it has changed. It used to pass through woods and farmers’ fields beyond Reston. Now, more and more of these rural scenes have been replaced by housing developments and highways. Nature still makes an appearance along the trail though. I saw a huge black snake, a black squirrel, a bunny rabbit, and an indigo bunting during my travels.

Despite the heat, I was doing pretty darn good on my ride home. Around mile 80, my knees started complaining. The only thing I could do was to focus on spinning in low gears and keep on pedaling.

When I finally made it back to the Mount Vernon Trail, I was greeted with a headwind for the last nine miles home. At least, along the river, it was a little less hot (cooler just doesn’t do the trick here).

On the spur of the moment I took the US 1 connector path instead of the MVT south of the beltway. Car traffic getting on to the Woodrow Wilson Bridge across the Potomac River was backed up for over a mile. I rode past the line of forlorn drivers thinking that I was so glad to be on a bike heading in the opposite direction. The drivers’ misery nearly took my mind off the hill I was climbing. This was followed by a bigger hill where Fort Hunt Road crests Beacon Hill. It took a while and my knees were barking but we made it without much drama. The downhill on the backside was so much fun I decided to add one more hill on Sherwood Hall Lane. This made for a final mile that was all downhill. Ahh.

Next time I go to Haute Dogs, I will visit their Old Town location. Because it’s there.

June: No Century. No Problem.

I finished off June today with a 22 mile ride on Big Nellie, my Tour Easy recumbent. The repaired chain seems to be working fine. I did notice when installing new brake pads yesterday that my front fork has some surface rust on it. I think I’ll replace it when I swap out the chain and drive train.

It was a pretty busy month. My daughter graduated from high school. All eyes are now on late August when she starts a new chapter in our lives when she heads west to Butler University in Indianapolis. I missed several days of riding dealing with graduation and other family events. I still managed to ride 672 miles. 508 ½ of those miles were aboard Big Nellie. The big hoss has become my go-to bike this summer. The Mule, my old Specialized Sequoia touring bike, came in with 125 miles, all while riding to work. Little Nellie, my Bike Friday New World Tourist, got light use with only 38.5 miles.

I rode to work 16 times, 11 on Big Nellie, 4 on The Mule and once on Little Nellie. My longest ride of the month was 64 miles on Big Nellie in Prince Georges County, Maryland.

For the year, I have 3,526 miles with 82 bike commutes.

I haven’t signed up for any fall rides this year. I will probably do the Southern Maryland Century and the 50 States Ride again. Once the kids go to college, I may jump in the car and go for some long rides in the boonies. That’s what they’re there for.

The plan was to clean the chain…

After lounging around doing crossword puzzles all morning, I went outside to clean the chain on Big Nellie, my Tour Easy recumbent. This is not a trivial task since the chain is 2 1/2 times as long as on a conventional bike. I made it to the side of the house and saw it. The eastern redbud I planted three years ago split down the middle during yesterday’s storm. So I spent a half hour in the sun sawing and lopping and chopping.

I put the debris from my tree clean up in my neighbor’s pile of yard debris which had floated down the street to our house. Suburbs are so convenient. Mrs. Rootchopper moved the pile earlier today. It contained a mess of creepy bugs and a snake. I am amazed she didn’t go screaming down the street.

I pulled Big Nellie out of the shed and set her up for a good chain cleaning, Then I saw it. One of the master links on the chain was broken. I am thankful that it didn’t snap off completely during last night’s deluge.

I pulled out my chain tool and an old chain and went to work. Not having much experience at this sort of thing, it was taking a long time. Midway through the operation, I noticed that one of the chain guides on my chain tool had broken off. No worries. I got this. Then the second chain guide broke off. Despite all these annoyances, the chain was nearly repaired when I dropped the chain and the pin fell out. This meant I had to go back to square one.

Instead of going to square one, I drove the bike to Spokes Etc. in Belle Haven where they repaired the chain in short order. I drove home. Big Nellie kept trying to jump off the bike rack. I had to stop three times to re-secure it.

As I write this it’s four in the afternoon. The day is shot. At least I cleaned my chain…oops. Forgot all about that.

These Playoffs Are Going to Be the Death of Me

Having not learned my lesson from yesterday evening’s TV sports marathon, I watched the National-Phillies baseball game (Ian Desmond grand slam!!!) and the Stanley Cup playoff game pitting the Bruins against the Blackhawks. I don’t know why I did this.  I didn’t even make it to the end of the game. I fell sound asleep on the couch. My son woke me up and I went to bed, to awaken hours later with a sore back. Time to ride to work!

Thankfully a tailwind pushed Little Nellie and me in the direction of my office. I passed some regulars along the way including the Three Step Runner, Hardware Store Man, the Trash  Walker and French Braid Kate, her eyes opalescent in the early morning light. Nobody pulled any moronic passes today and I somehow navigated the Rosslyn cycle of death without being hit, although I did manage to nearly take out a fitness walker wearing ear buds.

During the day, I rode Metro to Union Station. A young man on the train had obvious issues. He spoke with an outside voice telling standees to “SIT HERE. SIT OVER THERE.”  Then once he had satisfied himself that everyone was in their proper place, he started asking them questions like “WHERE ARE YOU FROM?” “WHERE IN NEW JERSEY?” As we approached Union Station, a woman wearing ear buds had her back to the door. He stood directly in front of her and started a one-way conversation as she nodded at him with a patient smile. The woman was a saint. Long ago in Boston, there was a man we called the Yankee Doodle Man. He’d ride the MBTA all day whistling “Yankee Doodle Dandy”. When he came to the end of the tune, he’d start talking a blue streak, usually anti-semitic things.  He seemed to  always be on the train I was on too.

I had some time to kill when I came back out of subway. Friday Coffee Clubber Rachel had tweeted that she was at Union Station so I walked around looking for her. She was long gone though. I did see an impressive number of street people panhandling. Between the poverty and the mental problems, I was thoroughly depressed. Bike commuting  insulates me from some of the grim realities of life in the big city.

The ride home was into a strong headwind but the weather was otherwise so nice I didn’t much care. The river was high and full of logs. Big ones. I wouldn’t want to be out on the water tonight.

The trumpet player was back at Gravelly Point park. Bwaaa. BWAAA. Bwaaa. Thanks for the sound track. He’s good but I am holding out for a string section so I can get some Barber of Seville overture action going like in “Breaking Away”.

French Braid Kate came down a slight incline between two guys. Just as in the morning she wore no sunglasses. Somehow her eyes are wide open. Doesn’t that bother her? I wear glasses all the time but if I had the wind in my eyes it would bother the heck out of me.

Spin, spin. Pedal, pedal.

Old Town came and went. I steeled myself for the stench of Belle Haven Park. a hundred yards before the sewery water, I came upon two young moms sitting facing each other on a beach towel in the grass. In front of them, propped up on their butts were two babies, probably about 8 months old. One was bald, the other tow headed.  They were pawing each other like bear cubs and giggling their oversized heads off. I almost stopped just to watch them. They were pure joy.

Instead I rode into the swamp zone. Dang, when will this stench ever go away?!

As I rode along beneath the trees, I took advantage of my upright position on my recumbent and looked up at the underside of the canopy of leaves above me. Green out!  The Mount Vernon Trail rocks as a way to get home!

Tomorrow will be a long day. Coffee Club before work. Nats game after work. Then a late night ride home.

Monday, Naked and Shameless

Big Nellie, having escaped arrest for indecent exposure over the weekend, took me to work naked this morning. She was naked. I was clothed.  Just want to make myself crystal clear about this.

The plunge down Park Terrace Drive was rather breezy. We hit 35 miles per hour. I was wearing loose shorts so let’s just say the feeling was rather festive.

I cruised down the Mount Vernon Trail, spotting yet another snapper turtle next to the trail. I am guessing that it was laying eggs. Either that or it was mooning me. It’s hard to tell with the shell.

If the downhill breeze up my pants didn’t wake me up, the reekage in Belle Haven Park would have. There were large pools of standing water that smelled like a sewer. The mallards didn’t mind though. (Remind me not to order duck the next time I eat at a fancy pants restaurant.)

Past the park, I spotted a chipmunk.on the edge of the trail. I wish he hadn’t skittered away. He was pretty cute.

Three of my regulars were out and about. Nancy (Wave Crash/One Bag) Duley was spinning under the Woodrow Wilson Bridge. She had no bag this morning, probably trying to sneak up on me. Having had stench up my nose and a 35-mile per hour wind up my shorts there was no chance of pulling a fast one on me this morning.

A half mile later near Ford’s Landing, I passed Hardware Store Man on his Serotta.

I could tell I am getting used to the naked Nellie when I hit the two boardwalks near Slaters Lane without slowing. I just trusted the bike and it carved through the turns. Wheee.

Just before Rosslyn, I came upon an incredibly skinny runner. She had to be anorexic. I could see every bone in her legs. Her thighs were no bigger than my forearms. I hope she was heading to an iHop. (Seriously, she looked like death. Very scary.)

I was worried that I might have to ride home in the rain. The last time I did I crashed  I still have a red mark on my right knee to show for it. No worries. The road was dry. I could have done without the headwind though.

South of the Memorial Bridge, a kid about 12 years old was sitting in the grass next to the trail fiddling with his bike. I asked if he needed help and he said, “Yes.” He said he had crashed and his chain was all messed up. I couldn’t see any evidence that he was hurt in any way, but his chain was definitely all screwed up. It had somehow jumped over the crank arm and was dangling on the front derailer cage. The chain stay (the tube connecting the seat tube to the back wheel) had all kinds of scratches in the paint. I fiddled with the chain, shifted the front derailer, gently moved the crank arm and, Voila!, fixed. Of course, if it had been my bike, I’d have broken the chain or the derailer or both. Kid, it’s your lucky day.

Cruising along opposite the Washington Monument, a woman of a certain age rode toward me on a CaBi (bikeshare) bike. She smiled at me and said, “Nice bike.” Recumbents are chick magnets.

Sitting at a picnic table near Gravelly Point, a man was doing what looked like Tai Chi. He had some good mojo going from the waist up.

I dropped into the zone and moseyed along at 13 miles per hour. I was on autopilot until I spotted something moving on the trail south of the still stinky Belle Haven Park. It was a little turtle crossing the trail in the direction of the river. I pulled over to give him an assist. He saw me coming and actually sped up. I could see his finned back feet pushing him along. When I got close, he stopped and ducked into his shell. I backed away and he skittered off the trail on his own power. I think this was a very young snapper. Pretty cool.

South of Tulane Drive the trail is being renovated. Two short wooden Northdown Roadhdown has been bridges will be replaced. The Park Service is building a bypass that will be for walking bikes around the work area. Farther south the trail connects with Northdown Road. Nortstripped of pavement and the cobblestone shoulders have been removed. The work crews are pretty patient with trail users so safe passage is not a problem.

I arrived home sweaty. Cotton t-shirts aren’t the best choice for muggy DC bike commutes. I called the local pharmacy to have them refill a prescription expecting to pick it up tomorrow night. The pharmacist apparently used to work in a pizza parlor because she said “Five minutes” when I asked her when it would be ready. The pharmacists get a kick out of seeing me with my bike helmet so I rode the 2 ½ miles to the drug store and back.A 32-mile naked Monday. I do believe I’ll do it again tomorrow. Nellie is shameless.

Big Nellie Naked

]I had intended to go for a monster ride today, drive out into the country, take Big Nellie off her leash and let her rip. I stupidly didn’t get my butt in gear until 10 so the opportunity for  a century an hour drive away was lost. Instead I went into my basement looking for a cue sheet for the Southern Maryland Century, which starts in Indian Head MD, only 20 minutes from my house. During my search I found a cue sheet for a metric century (64 miles) in eastern Prince Georges County MD 30 minutes from my house.

So I took off Big Nellie’s fairing (a windshield made of Lexan) and plopped my long wheel base recumbent on my bike rack. And off I drove.

When I pulled into the park where the ride began, I saw a couple hundred cars parked. What are the odds that I would randomly pick this cue sheet on the day of this year’s ride? I felt a bit like a gate crasher. Riders on fast bikes were finishing as I was getting my bike ready, so it was unlikely that my ride would overlap with anyone’s in today’s event.

As I went to put Big Nellie’s fairing back on, the Lexan around one of the mounting holes snapped off. I have literally had this fairing duct taped for a couple of years so this wasn’t really a surprise. It has taken an incredible beating for ten years and nearly 30,000  miles.  So we rode naked. (Good thing, too, because halfway through the ride the mounting hardware broke!)

Kaput
Kaput

The fairing helps a lot when riding in windy conditions. It adds a couple of miles per hour on descents. And it weighs down the front wheel, balancing the weight distribution of the bike. Riding without it, however, makes the bike feel completely different. The front end feels lighter. The bike climbs a little better because it is lighter. On a warm day, the breeze across my body feels great. The biggest benefit was entirely unexpected: I could see the road. The fairing had been scratched so badly that I could no longer see through it. I have been compensating by braking a lot and leaning to the side to get a better view of the road surface ahead of me. No more.

The ride does a big figure eight along the Patuxent River, which separates PG County from Calvert County. I doubt the terrain gets more than 200 feet above sea level. Never the less there is quite a bit of climbing because the rest areas are the banks of the river. Every rest is rewarded with honest work.

The first twenty miles were a blast. My legs were fresh and I was trucking. I had fun waving to the event riders coming my way. I did quite a bit of hill hopping, screaming down one hill and using my momentum to blast up the next. I knew I’d pay for my early speed later in the ride but I didn’t care. I was zipping along at over 20 miles per hour, something I never get to do during the workweek.

The first rest stop was deserted so I took a quick look at the river. A park employee commented on my bike. We chatted and she told me about kayak and canoe rentals. The river looked inviting but I had riding to do.

I kept trucking, perhaps a bit slower than before. I chalked it up to bigger hills and headwinds. About a mile before the next rest stop,  a car pulled along side me and the driver asked me if I was okay. Weird. Then it dawned on me that he was the sag wagon, looking for stragglers from the event. At the next rest stop, the volunteers were loading all the food and drinks into cars. I parked a discrete distance away. One of the volunteers came over and offered me some food and drink. Don’t mind if I do.

The ride up from the river was considerably harder than before. I was slightly over half way. No problemo. It was, however, getting hotter and the humidity was rising too. Pedal, pedal.

A guy on a fast looking road bike blew by me on a hill. He stopped at the top. I later found out that he was waiting for a friend. The two of them volunteered at a rest stop and were getting some miles in after their good works. We talked a bit at the next rest stop. His friend gave me some pretzels and I took some pictures of them with their camera. They loaded their bikes on two cars and I rode off. Uphill. Ugh.

The route diverted into Charles County for a few miles. I saw a vulture in the middle of the road. Do I look that bad? No, he was busy with some road kill.

The last few miles back to the start were flat or downhill. I finished strong but was plenty pooped. 64 miles. Naked. Big Nellie didn’t blush once.

French Braid Kate

After several days of swamp weatherFren followed by a monsoon, I was relieved to see sunny skies and feel cool, dry, breezy air this morning. This is perfect New England running weather, but it will do just fine for a DC bike commute. There have been a spate of articles lately about bike helmets. It turns out helmets are pretty useless for anything but the worst kind of crash and don’t do a blessed thing to prevent concussions. In all my years riding with one on, I’ve hit my head on the ground once, and that was a glancing blow that I may have avoided altogether but for the weight of the helmet. (My daughter’s helmet once kept her head from going down a storm drain, but that’s a story for another day.)

I can understand the concern about head injuries but you’d think they’d design helmets with the most common head injury in mind. Nope. What seems strange is that there is no call for widespread use of body armor by cyclists. I have smashed my left arm dozen times or so. At one point I took to wearing rollerblade elbow pads because my left arm was running out of meat for crashes!  Nobody has ever required me to wear elbow pads at a cycling event. (I have since learned to sacrifice my left butt cheek during crashes.)

All this helmet talk is preamble to the fact that today I eschewed (yes, he used “eschew” again!) my helmet for my official 2004 Boston Red Sox World Series Champion baseball cap. It doesn’t protect me against a concussion either but at least it shades my eyes and I can doff it at pretty girls as I ride past.

Speaking of pretty girls, I saw French Braid Girl on the way to work. She is relentless. I’d bet I see her on 90 percent of my commutes.She pretty much has the same expression every time we pass. (It says, “What a pathetic dude you are.”)  I also saw Hardware Store Guy on his Serotta, and The Hun on the way to work. The Hun is a new regular. He looks like he should have horns coming out of the side of his helmet. He has dark facial hair to complete the look.

I keep trying to get pictures of my regulars but they come and go so quickly that I can’t get my camera up and ready in time. Today, I got a picture of French Braid Girl. My photography skills being only slightly better than my climbing ability, her mother would be lucky to ID her from this picture. I’m betting her name is Kate though.

French Braid Girl

The ride home was as splendid as bike commuting can get. An asshat on a mountain bike passed me as another bike approached and a runner jogged in front of me. Mr. Studjumper nearly causing a four person accident. Seconds later, I was lost in the bliss of cruising along at 20 miles per hour with the wind in my fairing. Life is good.

May by the Numbers

I had all kinds of conflicts in May but still managed a 710.5 miles of bike riding. Sheesh! Two rides accounted for 208 miles of the total. One was a group ride to and from Baltimore. The other was a solo ride to East Jesus, Maryland and back. The remaining mileage was mostly commuting. I rode to work 13 times for 395 miles. I rode on 20 days out of 31. Two of those days were short hops to test out adjustments to my bikes.

I have been dogged by breathing problems for months. A few days after the Baltimore ride they went away only to come back. Yesterday and today, they were mostly gone. I hope they don’t return. I am also dealing with hot foot, a condition that recumbent riders get. It’s hard to describe but my feet get fatigued after lots of pedaling, but only on my recumbent.  My biggest physical bitch has to do with the fact that I managed to gain weight while riding 700 miles. Life’s not fair, is it?

I’m over 2,800 miles for the year with 68 bike commutes. I figure June will be a lot like May. Except my daughter will be a high school graduate. And, did you know that June is car maintenance month? I’ll be shuttling back and forth between various garages and my office. It’s something I truly hate to do, but it’s got to be done. After September when both kids are in college, we’ll have two functional rolling metal ornaments in front of our house.

Dead Beavers Tell No Lies

I was back in the saddle – er, foam pad – for an early morning departure. I haven’t been to Friday Coffee Club in a long time so I was looking forward to it. It was nice of Mother Nature to give Big Nellie and me a tailwind assist. The miles seemed to fly by. I spotted a garbage bag next to the trail just south of Belle Haven Park. It turned out to be a beaver all balled up. I think he was dead. He certainly wasn’t looking very spunky.

Since I left earlier than usual, most of my regulars weren’t out yet.  So the critters kept me entertained. Near the power plant another critter caught my eye. It was a black snake coiled up in the middle of the trail. I think he’s with the beaver in critter heaven.

Near the airport I cruised by Trash Walker, my first regular of the day. Trash Walker hoofs it along the trail and picks up trash as he goes. And he always waves and says “Hello”.  He didn’t get the memo about crumpy-assed bike commuters like me.

The early morning brings out the Lancelots, the bike riders who have delusions of cycling grandeur. (Digression No. 1: Look people, you’re on a bike trail with hardly any hills. You don’t look badass passing a bike commuter carrying 30 pounds of crap on his recumbent. You are pathetic. Chill.)  I came off the first of two flyover bridges at National Airport at considerable speed. Three cyclists coming toward me decided to pass a walker just as I came upon them. (Digression No. 2: The levers on your handlebars activate your brakes. Don’t pull out into the path of an on-coming bike when you don’t have to. Wait your turn, just as you would when you’re driving your car. Otherwise I will have to use the bicycle death ray on you. You’ve been warned.)

I rode into the city with two other commuters. At the Jefferson Memorial I was overtaken by a vast bicycle commuting conspiracy. This included one of my regulars, the guy with the mountain bike with slick tires and aerobars who looks slow but goes lickety split.

Crossing Maine Avenue, French Braid Girl came past. Normally I see her four miles closer to home, so I had a good idea how early I was. As I passed the Garbage TruckWashington Monument, a bike came from my right and a runner came from my left. Somehow we avoided a calamitous collision. At Constitution Avenue the light was green (which never happens without a long wait) making up for all of life’s early morning injustices. Soon, another injustice appeared in the 15th Street Cycletrack.

At Swings, the weekly meeting of the WAAMCCD (Washingtion Area All Male Cycling Coffee Drinkers) was in session. Fortunately, we were soon joined by Kate Drake, fresh from her vacation in the high Sierras, and her friend Kate. New Kate makes the fifth cycling Kate that I know in DC, and sixth overall. The three Lisas  (all local) need to up their game.

Out of the garage I bolted into the bike lane on Lynn Street, kinda cutting off a cyclist. My bad. I caught all the lights and made for the bike trail. Two cyclists on the sidewalk to my right passed me unexpectedly on my right. No warning. Thanks, guys. (Please see discussion of the bicycle death ray, above.)  Down on the Mount Vernon Trail there were all sorts of walkers milling about. I came to a stop until they finished milling. All the way to the airport the wind was gusting into my face. A bike commuter passed my and said “This sucks!” Dude, try it in February. This is positively lovely. Takes the edge off the heat and humidity.

Once south of the airport the trees gave me relief from the headwind. Big Nellie and I tootled home. We stopped to take a picture of the beaver. He was still dead.

Kate Drake asked me about the bald eagle nests. I put her off coming down to see them. The trees have made them very hard to find.  It’s a shame. I should have put together a bald eagle ride earlier in the spring.

Tomorrow is the Tour de Fat.It’s a big party with bikes, acid rock, live nude girls, and beer.  Oh, and it’s family friendly. I know this because every ten minutes somebody tweets or posts something on Facebook about it. (If you are fat, they let you in for free, I hear.) I was tempted to go for the entire event which lasts something like six hours. I can do six hours of bikes or beer or acid rock or live nude girls. (Okay, I am kidding about the live nude girls. There will be at least 1,200 Kates in attendance so that counts for something.) Owing to my age and marital status, I decided I’d go for one hour. My plan is to ride to the Washington Folk Festival at Glen Echo Park to see my friend Lisa’s Japanese taiko drum group at 2 then ride to the Tour de Fat.  I hope they have some beer left.

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