Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Bike Commute

When I was a kid, I used to love watching Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. It was a nature show sponsored by an insurance company. The host was Marlin Perkins. I think he got the gig over Halibut Jones and Billy “Blowfish” Campito. Anyway, he was a skinny old guy with white hair and a white mustache.

In its early years Marlin would be out in the field with a guy named Jim Fowler. In later years Marlin was usually filmed in an office. He’d narrate some escapade involving a lethal wild animal that would sooner or later grab Jim by the throat and drag him underwater. Then, the camera would cut back to Marlin who would say something like, “Jim’s in trouble, but you don’t have to be because you can buy Mutual of Omaha life insurance.” Then a commercial would start.

When we came back from the commercial, Jim would extricate himself from harm. After a few years, Jim figured out that Marlin was never in harm’s way. Jim bailed on the show and a beefy Aussie named Stan Brock showed up. Poor Stan. What a dope.

Today’s ride to work was filled with wild creatures (and I am not talking about Bob Cannon or Nancy Duley, although a case could be made for them, I suppose). There was a big bald eagle in the tree above the Belle Haven nest. Bright sunlight was reflecting off its face and tail and made for an impressive pose.

In Jones Point Park, near the recently repaired wooden bridge on the trail, I spied a large fox trotting across the trail into the woods. The local fox population boomed in the last couple of years but seems to be in decline recently.

As I passed National Airport I spotted a hawk, probably an osprey, in a tree next to the trail. He was looking away from the river. Dude, turn around. The fish are that-a-way.

My final wildlife sighting came just north of the Memorial Bridge. The near side of the river was filled with Canada geese. I turned to look at them and saw a streak just barely above the water. It was a great blue heron all stretched out and flying impossibly low and fast. Its neck had a kink in it (which is normal), its feet and legs were stretched out behind it’s torso, and the sun was highlighting its coloring.  For such an ungainly looking bird, this heron was putting on an impressive display of flying skills.

On the ride home I spotted a vulture flying in circles over the area south of the 14^th Street Bridge. It must have been looking for dead ninjas.

I am sure I was annoying to other trail riders because in each of these instances, I veered all over the trail as I was taking in the show. My apologies.

My new blog feature is my Danger of the Day Award. Today’s award goes to the driver of the sedan in Old Town that passed me on North Union Street within inches of my left arm. After the car passed, I stuck my left arm out and waved it up and down to indicate that I need some space. I could see the driver as he drove away. He was gesticulating as if he were carrying on a conversation with someone. An Alexandria Police Cruiser pulled in behind the car and, when the car went to parallel park, slowed. The officer looked in the car to see if the driver was up to something. By this point, the driver was off his phone or otherwise behaving himself. The cruiser continued without stopping.

Our runner up of the day is awarded to the Rosslyn driver who started to turn onto the I-66 ramp off of North Lynn Street. The driver was looking down at something in the middle of the front seat, oblivious to the fact that I was in the crosswalk in front of her. Lucky for me she looked up in time and braked.

That’s why I choose Mutual of Omaha for all my life insurance.

Back to you, Marlin,

 

The last couple of days have been all discombobulated. Yesterday, I drove to work, thinking that my daughter’s play (actually one of seven short plays) would start at 7.  I found out at 5 that the play doesn’t start until eight. I could have ridden in afterall.  As it turns out it was mighty cold and windy so I can’t say that I was all that upset.

After work, I drove to Cactus Cantina up in Grover Park.  I experimented with a new route and found out that I could get over to Rock Creek Park easily, thereby avoiding the traffic mess in Georgetown. It only took me 15 months to find this new route which seems obvious. (Key Bridge to Whitehurst Freeway to 27th Street to Virginia Avenue to RCP. Pretty easy.) Anyway, I had a fine repast at the restaurant with the Mrs. My meal is still making me feel stuffed 22 hours later. The two margueritas went down smoothly, I might add.

Mrs. Rootchopper and I drove separate cars to the school. I had arrived at the theater late because of a telephone call that took 25 minutes. (Chatty sister, I have.) The school theater has a wide aisle after the fourth row of seats. I walked back and forth across the aisle looking for my wife to no avail. I went outside and asked a student usher if she had seen her and she went in with me and pointed her out. I walked across the same wide aisle and sat down next to her. She leaned over and said, “You didn’t say ‘hi’ to Hillary?” and pointed to a seat to my right in the row in front of me. There, seated in the ;2row on the wide aisle was the just-resigned Secretary of State/Senator from NY/FLOUS. Bloody hell. How’d I miss her? (Her nephew was in one of the plays.)

The plays were mostly pretty entertaining. Leaving was a bit of a challenge since there was a clot of people around Hillary including a tall, expressionless white man in a dark cloth coat. Dude, just wear a sign that says “Secret Service” in the future. Driving down Cathedral Avenue traffic came to a stop as a couple of imposing looking black cars were parked illegally on the street in front of the school. Dudes, you stick out like a linebacker at a tea party. Why don’t they change the name to the Obvious Service?

As I mentioned to a Twitter friend, seeing Hillary at the play is way better than buying a TV with Dick Gephardt. (True story.) It still doesn’t top the time I was showing my sister around the mall..  She had never been to DC. Suddenly, a Secret Service helicopter started swooping low over Constitution Avenue near the Vietnam Veterans’ Memorial. We ran to the street.  A motorcade came past. A long black limo with an illuminated interior was in the middle. There, in the back seat, were Ron and Nancy. We were alone on the edge of the street waving like idiots. The president turned toward us, pointed, waved and smiled. I am sure my sister thinks this sort of thing happens every day.

This morning I took the Milennium Falcon for an oil change. The place was pretty empty for a Saturday; I think 16 degrees makes people disinclined to get up on a Saturday and go outside. I walked the mile and a half home. The mechanic seemed to take a long time so I called him 90 minutes after he said the car would be ready. He told me he left a message 2 hours ago. It turns out that my old employer hasn’t turned off my voice mail despite the fact that I left 16 months ago. And my name and number are still being used in materials for a year-round survey. I spent 15 minutes going through 37 calls on my old voice mails, none of them of any importance.

After fetching the car, I did some errands. The pharmacist laughed when he saw me. He turned to the other pharmacist and said he didn’t recognize me without my helmet. The other day, the head of our neighborhood association recognized me as the guy who rides that funny-looking bike. (I had to get a clarification, which funny looking bike? He meant Big Nellie.)

I spent the next few hours fighting with Turbo Tax but I finished our tax returns (REFUND? REFUND!?) and my daughter’s as well. My son’s W2 is AWOL which proves that taxes are never without some kind of complication.

A squall line is approaching, Soon snow will be coming down. Looks like Super Bowl Sunday may be another perfect day for car maintenance and taxes.

I miss my bike already.

It was over 40 degrees when I headed out aboard Big Nellie this morning. There was barely a trace of the nasty ice and snow we’d been treated to for the past several days. I drove to work a rare three days in a row because of all the slippery stuff and, as a result, it took me a long time to get loaded and on the bike. One of my secrets to bike commuting success is having all my clothes and gear ready to go in the morning. Fail.

With fresh legs and a warm tail wind the ride in was effortless. One reason I like commuting in the late winter is that I arrive at Dyke Marsh as the sun rises. It rarely disappoints.

The National Park Service has been busy recently replacing some of the boards on the Dyke Marsh boardwalk. It looks like a piano with light colored boards interspersed with dark, weathered wood. I think it would be cool if notes played as you rode over them. And, no, I did not have hash brownies for breakfast.

I had little difficulty maintaining decent speed until I came to Jones Point Park. Near the river the Park Service had erected an electric sign warning that the trail was closed ahead. I back tracked to South Lee Street and made my way through Old Town. Lee Street ends at a parking lot that actually goes through to the continuation of the Mount Vernon Trail on the north side of Old Town. I rode through the lot and stopped to take a picture of the demolition of the Sheet Metal Association Building. Regular trail users will remember this as the tiered building clad in ugly green sheet metal. It was a monument for why noone with good taste would ever put sheet metal on the exterior of an office building. All the sheet metal is gone and crews were busy jackhammering the concrete, with chunks falling near the trail.

After taking the picture I had to lift Big Nellie over a rope that served to deter cyclists from cutting through this parking lot. I made sure to get lots of dirt chain wax on the rope.

The rest of the ride in was uneventful but for an oddity near the airport. A man in full cycling gear was sitting on a rolling yellow suitcase next to the trail at the southern flyover bridge. He didn’t have a bicycle so why was he in cycling clothing? Did he fly into town wearing cycling clothing.

Temperatures rose throughout the day, peaking at 70 degrees just after lunch. No need for a holey sweater or booties for the ride home. And it was daylight for more than a third of the ride!!!  The trail was crowded though. Runners and walkers and dogs on leashes and bikes and kids on their trikes and babies in strollers!!! What an obstacle course.

By the time I reached Old Town it was plenty dark and I was running all my lights as usual. The bridge in Jones Point Park was repaired so I rode through that section. Certain places, usually lower lying, often don’t get the memo about the unseasonably warm temperatures. You’re riding along feeling all comfy then you get hit with a cold slap in the face.

The last 3 1/2 miles on the MVT were the usual ride into blinding headlights. Sometimes I feel like standing along the edge of the Parkway and shining my the light on my helmet into the drivers’ eyes.There were at least six times when I could see absolutely nothing except the blazing headlights of cars. This will only last a few more weeks though. Of course, I am certain to find something else to bitch about. I ride, therefore, I crab.

 

 

 

 

I have two pairs of lobster gloves. I have determined that one pair is useless for its intended purpose of keeping my fingers warm. My older pair has rough edges where the different fabrics are stitched together so I haven’t used them in a while. I broke them out for today’s ride and for temps in the 30-45 degree range they seem to be pretty good.

I rode LIttle Nellie over to the scene of my crash.  No ice anywhere. No blood either. It’s all good. I made my way over to the Mount Vernon Trail to see if that’s in good shape.  My left knee was still a little stiff from the crash but by the time I made it to the MVT, all was back to normal. The same can be said of the trail, all clear, even the wooden bridges, all the way to Old Town and beyond. There was plenty of ice in Dyke Marsh and along the river’s edge. Ice is pretty, except when you crash on it.

I rode to the short wooden bridge on the MVT in Jones Point Park.  It’s still blocked off, but repairs are well underway. It should be re-opened in a day or two. A runner came up behind me and asked me if she could get around it. I turned to talk to her and jeez louise was she pretty. Suddenly, I realized how much I miss running.

We assessed the situation  – with the bridge, that is. I decide to reverse course. The runner went for it walking around the bridge, over a log in the little streamlet, and out the other side. I stayed in case she fell and need assistance from a middle aged lech. No dice.

I found the unpaved access point to the adjacent neighborhood on South Lee Street. It’s unpaved to discourage bicyclists from using it. This is yet another example of how Alexandria’s Bicycle Friendly Community award is premature. The unpaved portion has loose stones and is about 20 yards long.  Paving it could not have been a money issue. They just don’t want bikes using it.

I made my way past the power plant and looped back to Slaters Lane. There I took the bike lane to US 1. That took me to the new Potomac Avenue all the way to Crystal City.  At the middle of Crystal City I took the access path under the railroad right of way back to the MVT and headed south.

At the south end of the airport, I took the Four Mile Run Trail back to the west side of US 1.  I worked my way over to Commonwealth Avenue and, eventually, to a traffic light at Del Ray Boulevard.  A shiny, black two-seater Mercedes was waiting at the red light. The car cost a bundle but its driver had a ten-cent head. I took a position behind and to its left in order to make a left turn onto Del Ray. The Mercedes had pulled up past the stop line and the sensors that tell the light that a car is coming from our direction. We waited a full cycle without getting our turn. The dummy in the Mercedes didn’t realize he needed to back up. An SUV came up behind us and stopped over the sensor freeing us from our electronic trap.

Of course, in a bona fide Bicycle Friendly Community these sensors are set so that a bicycle will activate them.  Not in Alexandria.

Riding down narrow Del Ray Boulevard I was followed by a church van. The engine was making a lot of noise that indicated the driver was getting impatient with me.  Once we cleared the busy section of the street, I was expecting him to roar by me, but he went by at a normal speed. Thanks, sir. A few blocks later, I could hear a car coming up behind me. The driver beeped, not all that loudly, as he began to pass me. I shook my head and looked at him over my shoulder. We stopped at a light, both of us in a left turn lane, he in front of me. He rolled down his window and started to explain what he was doing. (Dude, your actions on the road should be self evident. If you have to explain yourself, you’ve probably screwed up.) I told him “Don’t beep your horn at a cyclist, all your going to do is startle me. I heard you before you beeped.” Then the passenger’s side window came down and I started hearing from the passenger. It wasn’t an acrimonious exchange though.  I was just trying to educate the ignorant.  I doubt they understood.

Back through Old Town where I ran a red light after waiting too long. Once again my bike would not activate the sensor. Next it was onto the US 1 connector trail and up Fort Hunt Road. Now I was south of the beltway making my way up a couple of hills.  Life was good. Fort Hunt Road is one poorly designed road though. Shoulders and parking and turn lanes come and go at random.  I was coming down the second hill on a narrow, shoulderless stretch. Cars were going about the speed limit and passing me when on-coming traffic allowed. Then HOOOONNKKK!  A white pick up with a cap on the back roared past me. I had used up all my tolerance for stupid drivers in Del Ray and yelled “F&%k You” at the pick up. The passenger side window came down and the passenger flipped me off. My attempt to return digital fire was sadly thwarted by my lobster gloves.

My 24 mile Sunday ride ended pathetically. One day, I will invent a lobster glove that allows for bird flipping and I will make millions.

Sadly, the roads and the Mount Vernon Trail were still plenty icy today. I drove to work aboard the Millennium Falcon.  That would be a Mitsubishi Lancer.  It’s a small car with no pick up, but it gets the job done. Traffic was very light since the Federal Government allowed its workforce to telecommute because of an approaching snow storm.  The light traffic allowed me to check out the Belle Haven bald eagle nest and I am happy to report that there were two bald eagles in the tree. I hope they stay and mate. Watching eaglets grow would be such a cool addition to my bike commutes.

I zoned out while driving slowly to Rosslyn, so slowly that I missed one of my turns and had to drive all the way around Arlington Cemetery.  The traffic was so light that it only took me an extra minute or two.

I drove home at the peak of the storm. It’s hard to explain the ferocity of this winter event. Visibility was down to a mile or two. What a pathetic excuse for a storm.

My left arm and knee are still sore after yesterday’s crash. I think I will take it easy this weekend, do my taxes, and have another glass of merlot.

It’s tasty.

 

Yesterday, I followed almost followed the plan. The plan for the day was to stay off the bike after riding 151 miles during the work week.  I had a couple of errands to run. Then I stepped outside. The weather was so nice I couldn’t bring myslef to use the car.  So Big Nellie got the call. We rode to the bank in the Safeway on US 1.  I try to avoid US 1 but I can get to the Safeway using the side access road and the drive through at a Wallgreens.  I wonder what the pharmacist things when I cruise by on my recumbent.

The tellers at the bank are always amused to see me in my biking clothes.  My pleasure ladies.

After the bank I left US 1 and headed for the hardware store. Village Hardware is a great little place to shop. The people are nice. And the owner rides a Serotta on the MVT in the mornings. They sell shelled bird seed coated with hot pepper. The squirrels don’t like it but the birds go ape over it.

I loaded the big bag of seed in my pannier and headed back for home. Despite having all that additional weight on one side of the bike, Big Nellie rode like a limo.

Today was my day for sitting around in my jammies and watching football after doing a couple of small chores around the house. I did the chores, got online and learned that it was in the 50s outside. Hello, Big Nellie.

We rode the MVT north. Near Porto Vecchio I came upon a father and son who was about 9 or 10 years old. The boy passed his father directly into my path. I braked to avoid him. Dad said, “Keep going. I’m going to wait for your mom.” Dude, the kid is not competent to be riding on a busy narrow bike trail. About 50 yards from them, I came upon mother and daughter. Mother was calling over her shoulder to the little girl who was probably only 7 or 8. The gentle downhill and the traffic passing by on the adjacent Parkway had her on the verge of tears.  If you are a parent, don’t be an ass hat. If you want to take your 8-year old cycling, don’t take then on a busy, narrow bike trail like the MVT. They are not ready for it. You are doing them no favors. When they have tears in their eyes or nearly have an accident with another trail user, clue in.

I continued on to the Woodrow WIlson Bridge trail and took that across the Potomac to Maryland. Then it was up the long hill to Oxon Hill Road.  Grind. Grind. Pedal. Pedal. 8 then 7 then 6 then 5 miles per hour. At the top of the hill, I took a left toward DC. Then I hooked another left toward Oxon Hill Farm. There is a new road that connects Indian Head Highway to the farm. I was tempted to take it but wasn’t up for the traffic on the highway as it enters the District and becomes South Capitol Street.

I rode past the farm and down toward Oxon Cove. The trail continues into DC. I followed the local road parallel to I-295. Unfortunately, civilians are not allowed to cut through Bolling Air Force Base.  Instead, I rode up a steel hill back to Martin Luther King, Jr. Boulevard. This is the main drag of Anacostia. People were hanging out in their Sunday best. There were lots of smiles and hellos. There’s nothing like a spring day in January to make people friendly.

I wanted to ride across the South Capitol Street Bridge but I couldn’t figure out how to get there without premature death. I rode MLK to Stanton and headed for the 11th Street Bridge.  The signs leading to the bridge are useless. The roadway is all torn up. I rode into Anacostia Park and made my way under the bridge. There were several DC police officers under the bridge. Security for the innaugural is off the charts. They let me pass without question. I think they determined that Big Nellie was not a threat to public safety.

The bridge side path sucks. It dropped me off at Potomac St where the curb cut was blocked by a police SUV from Homeland Security. I stopped and popped out of my seat. Before I made verticle the SUV backed up. Well done, DHS.

I rode near Fort McNair where traffic was all blocked up with police and military vehicles. I am glad I don’t live in DC this weekend. The inaugural events have the city all messed up.

I rode to the Maine Avenue sidepath. There I encountered a cluster of pedestrians aimlessly plodding toward the Tidal Basin. If you are visiting from out of town, please take note. People live here. We want to get where we are going. So do not walk four abreast and three deep on our trails.

As I passed the eastern end of the Tidal Basin I could see the MLK memorial on the western side. There was a big crowd of people at the memorial. Lucky for me, there were very few people on my side of the basin.

I took the 14th Street Bridge to the MVT.  The crosswind was gusting.  Big Nellie managed fine even with the fairing acting as a sail.  When I looped under the bridge and on to the MVT I had a tailwind. Time to boogay.

I had to come to a near stop four or five times on the ride home, but I’m not complaining. It’s great to see people out in such numbers in mid January.

32 miles. The thermometer at home said 60 degrees. Not half bad for a lazy mid-winter day.

As I write this, I am wearing my jammies. I’m a gonna watch me some football.

Sounds like a plan.

Today was Friday the 13th.  Your calendar may say it’s the 18th but it’s my 13th bike commute of the year so your calendar can pound sand.

I left early in the hope of catching the tail end of the early crowd at Friday Coffee Club. Since many of the early arrivals are women the use of the term “tail end” in the previous sentence might be misconstrued. Not that any of these women have deficient tails. It’s just that Mary and Lisa and Crystal, who used to be at Coffee Club during the 8 to 9 core coffee hours usually leave before I arrive these days.

My valiant attempt to arrive early was thwarted by a head wind and the fact that it was Friday and my legs were saying “No mas.” This is the sort of Spanish I pick up by watching telenovellas while I am doing my back exercises after I wake up. Today the woman with the big boobs and the low cut dress was decidedly not pregnant when she was clearly with child last Friday. Thankfully, our heroine Anita is consistently bouncy in her short shorts and spaghetti string top. I have not a clue what the hell is going on in this story, by the way. Nearly all the men look like gymnasts and all the young women are supermodels. All of which makes me want to move to Las Anitas pronto.

Back to reality. I braved South Royal Street which improbably was devoid of Catholic SUVs.  This is good because Catholic SUV drivers get mighty impatient when the have to wait in line for blocks to drop off Mary Margaret and Patrick Junior.  (You can tell that I am familiar with the whole Irish Catholic thing. Suffice it to say, that my early altar boy experiences were in Latin. And my grandmother said the Our Father in Gaelic before we carved the turkey on Thanksgiving.)

Once in DC, I had expected security hassles, but except for some random jersey barriers on the sidewalk across from the Commerce Department, I made it up 15th Street and across the White House plaza on Pennsylvania Avenue without stopping. As I pulled in at Swings Coffee Emporium I spotted Mary, Queen of Caffeine, as she was leaving. Nice to see you, Mary. It’s been too long. She took my picture with Little Nellie. (Actually, she took it with a camera but you get my drift.)

Inside Swings, the joint was jumpin’. Ed (a.k.a Mr. Mary) and Mary had brought a cake to celebrate the first anniversary of Friday Coffee Club. It was already half gone; the cake that is. The early bike gets the frosting.

I commiserated with Tom and Kirsten, Ted, and Adam. Then Kate and Rachel and Katie showed up followed by Jacques and his supercute baby boy Hugo. I even got to hold Hugo which was especially great since it was a cold morning and Hugo was as warm as a loaf or bread straight out of the oven. And because observing babies absorbing their surroundings is fascinating. These people (and the many other nice folks at Coffee Club) have made Friday mornings a joy for the past year.

Ed handed out a pewter pin of a coffee cup as a little commerative gift. He gave out all 25 that he and Mary had made. It’s amazing to me that more than 25 people would show up on a cold Friday morning before a three day weekend. Brew it and they will come.

As we were leaving, Ed and I became enbroiled in an intense discussion. Kate and Rachel are roommates who frequently tweet about their zany escapades. Ed likened them to Laverne and Shirley or Lucy and Ethel. I am in the Mary and Rhoda camp. This scholarly debate needs more research. Keep tweeting Kate and Rachel.

The ride to work my office in Virginiawas frigid and annoying. I had to stop five times on the too-narrow TR Bridge to let DC-bound bikes pass. As I normally do, I salmoned on the sidewalk on Lynn Street from the MVT to my office. Fifty feet from the office garage, I came upon a woman walking toward me. She was obviously quite cold. She had a coffee in one hand and an annoyed look on her face. As I passed with all kinds of room, she said, “There’s a road, you know.” I said, “Thanks.” (“Bitch” understood.)

During the day it seemed to get much colder still, but the wind was at my back for the ride home. After seven miles in the twilight (yes, the winter solstice is behind us!!!), I was once again dodging ninjas. The first two were walking side by side, taking up two-thirds of the width of the MVT. They were dressed in dark clothing from head to toe. I said, “I can’t see you” as I passed.  That’s my new public service announcement. Another two near Old Town were walking opposite each other. A fifth came running onto the trail. His brand new white sneakers saved him from a face full of handlebar.

On the MVT just after the South Washington Street deck, I came upon a man and his two kids. They were on bikes in the dark. They wore reflective vests and had helmets with bright lights on them. They asked for directions to the airport (probably to watch the planes take off). I explained that it was at least four miles (actually it was five) and the kids lost interest. They all agreed to continue to ride into Old Town with remarkable enthusiasm considering the headwind they were dealing with and how cold it was. They had big smiles on their faces.There’s hope for this world.

For some odd reason, I decided to ride up the hill at Park Terrace. In the mornings, I break 30 miles per hour riding down this bad boy. On the way up, it’s all I can do to stay upright. Somehow, I actually got stronger near the top tonight. My body can sense the end of the work week.

When I arrived home, the Rootchopper automotive fleet was back in service. We all celebrated by going out for chili at the Hard Times Cafe in Old Town. After 151 miles of bike commuting this week, I felt like I could use a little EPO. Instead I had a Shiner Bock and some Texas chili.

 

On Sunday and Monday nights I probably slept 3 hours combine. Last night I was eager to saw logs when a little after ten p.m. my phone rang. It was my son calling to tell be that someone had put a rock through his car window. I was up until nearly 2 a.m.

My alarm went off at 6. I really wanted to stay in bed. I really didn’t. I was out of the house after arranging for the car to be repaired. I was out of the house only ten minutes later than usual.  The ride in was a zombie slog. Cold, rainy, foggy. I hate living in Seattle even when I don’t.

The ride home was Slog II: The Sequel. It was just like riding in only backwards. Sort of. I zoned out again. I don’t remember anything from the last 8 miles.

I am so tired I could cry. Maybe I will. Then I will go to bed.

I rode to work yesterday in shorts. I knew the gods would smite my ass today. And so they did.

After another night of little sleep, I woke up and waited for the return of the plumber.  He arrived pretty much on time, fixed the kitchen faucet in less than a minute and was gone. I left the house at 8 into a rainy, cold headwind. Little Nellie is probably getting annoyed that she gets the call when the weather sucks. Suck it up, baby. You have the oldest drivetrain in the shed.

The ride in was uneventful. Rain. Cold. Headwind. Despite the elements, I was comfortable all the way to work.  I hung up my wet things on the back of my office door and placed my overboots on the floor hoping that they would somehow dry out.

At 5 I started to dress for the ride home. My holey sweater had apparently been in contact with my rain jacket and had soaked up some water.  I put it on anyway. They say that wool will keep you warm even when it’s wet. They ain’t lyin’. The last thing on was the overboots. I was amazed to find that they had dried out during the day.

The ride home was pretty much like the ride in except I now had a mild cross wind and the rain was little more than a few sprinkles here and there. I managed not to hit a single ninja, because even ninjas are smart enough to know not to be out in this kind of weather. Not me. No no. I’m pretty sure I am not on Mensa’s speed dial.

It’s supposed to rain right through the morning tomorrow so the ride in sure looks like a whole lot of fun.  I can’t complain. It hasn’t snowed (yet) and the temperatures have been above freezing for most of the winter.  There I’ve done it again. The gods will surely smite my ass – again.

 

It’s the middle of January and I wore shorts to and from work. As unusual as this feels, it actually is not all that rare. I remember when I was living in the frozen north, there would be a couple of thaws every winter. And there would be at least one week of no-way-I’m-going-outside cold weather. One of the nice things about living near DC is that super cold weather is extremely rare.

Last night I logged a good, solid 1 hour of sleep. It seems to happen about once every ten days. I even took some zzzzQuil. The stuff is useless. NyQuil knocks my ass right out. zzzQuil is lame.

I had fresh legs because I didn’t ride all weekend. Add a tail wind and I felt like I had EPO for breakfast. There were several points along the river where the air temperature was a good ten degrees colder. Woke my ass right up. The fog was intense too. As I rode opposite the Washington Monument there was a sort of fog plume on the river. I like fog. I once taught at a college in Newport RI. It was frequently socked in with dense fog and a fog horn sounded in the distance. I love that sound.

I managed to get through the Rosslyn Circle of Blood without incident. I arrived at work unscathed.

It was a few degrees colder on the ride home. As luck would have it the wind had changed direction and I had another tailwind. I saw a woman running in a thin sweatshirt and shorts. I smiled at her. I loved running in Rhode Island. I rarely wore long pants. I hated the feeling. So seeing a runner in shorts is always a good thing. Except if they have cankles. Most runners don’t have cankles.

With the foggy haze and the dark it looked like the incoming planes at National Airport were going to land on a plane on the runway. One was landing from the east. One was on the NW bound runway awaiting take off. Two were coming in for a landing from the SE.  Doing air traffic control at that place must be nerve wracking.

The ride to Old Town was calming. No effort with the breeze at my back. My back wheel seemed to be a little slippery. I didn’t have a flat but my panniers were stuffed with my work clothes and my bad weather cycling gear. There’s only so much weight you can put back there before a bike’s handling goes all to hell.

South of Old Town I came upon a double header. Two ninjas, dressed all in black walking side by side. The three of us are fortunate that they were on the other side of the trail. I encountered another as I approached the Dyke Marsh boardwalk. This was a runner in all black but he had white legs (shorts again) and white lettering on his long sleeved shirt.

The weather takes a turn for the worse tomorrow. Cold and rainy. Good thing the plumber is coming back to re-do the kitchen faucet. At least I get to ride in after sunrise. No shorts though.