I really did want to ride the populaire with DC Randonneurs. The ride is around 65 or 70 miles with plenty of hills. The ride would have to wait. My downstairs sink was completely destroyed by a Friday night DIY frenzy that made me glad I didn’t go to trade school. My son left town to hang out with his girlfriend (the boy has his priorities straight) and I waited for the plumber.

The plumber came around noon and went to work. This guy moved like a dancer around the sink. Within 30 mimutes or so, he had the drain pipe, new valves and the sink and countertop installed. Go team!  Then he had his way with the shower which has been dripping for six months. He replaced both valves, the shower head and the pipe leading to it. Ta da!  To finish off his work, he replaced the stem valve in the kitchen sink faucet. He was gone by 1:20. If nothing leaks, he’s going to be our plumber for ever.

I have been watching tweets from Mary, Lisa and John, who are doing the populaire, Adam, who is counting trail users for the city of Alexandria, and Ted, who is riding around Alexandria for fun and food. It looked gray and cold outside but my brain could not get my ass in gear. So I am taking a day of rest.

Some friends from my grad school days are meeting up in Garrett Park MD for a Secret Santa brunch.  So Sunday will most likely be another day off the bike. I should be ready to rumble come Monday.

 

I had another sleepless night. I don’t really know why other than the fact that I had a mild tummy ache. I slept maybe 3 hours. Sleepless nights are no excuse for driving to work. Having 3 cars and 4 drivers pretty much seals the deal.

I chose Little Nellie, my Bike Friday, today. It was the first time this year that I did not ride Big Nellie, my Tour Easy recumbent. There was rain in the forecast and I hate to get Big Nellie’s new foam seat wet. Before I was a mile into the commute, I could hear the sound of ever so tiny raindrops on my jacket. The ride in was pretty nice. Dark with a beautiful sunrise over the river. I would have stopped to take some pictures but I was on my way to Friday Coffee Club and didn’t want to be too late.

On the way I passed the front of the White House. It’s almost ready to receive the Inauguration Day parade. Part of Pennsylvania Avenue is blocked off so I followed two other cyclists onto the sidewalk and around some German (or maybe Dutch) tourists dressed up in suits. They were getting a group picture with the White House in the background.  How do you say photobomb in German?

I arrived a little after eight. The Coffee Club was humming as usual. I ended up spending most of my time with Kate and Rachel who remind me of Mary and Rhoda, except without the New Yawk accent or smile that’s too big for her face. Bob and Rachel share the same last name but had never met, so the two Cannons had good fun trying to figure out if their family trees intersected. Kate and I discussed bike touring between Massachusetts and DC.

Just before leaving Leslie Tierstein showed up and asked about our friend Charmaine who had been run over by a pick up truck last month while riding to work. Later I heard from Charmaine. Her recovery continues. She has many more weeks of therapy for her broken right arm. I am signed up to escort her on her first ride once she is healed.

Leslie and I rode together across the TR Bridge to Rosslyn. To get there we had to take a poorly designed detour (steep, narrow, no curb cut) near the Kennedy Center. DDOT you can do much better than this. I made it across the narrow bridge sidepath without having to stop for DC-bound bike riders. I timed it so that they approached me at the bump outs in the trail. This was a first for me. I should get a reward. The TR Bridge, even without the detour, is a mess for all users. It’s dysfunctional and ugly. It really should have been replaced years ago. The Sousa Bridge, which carries Pennsylvania Avenue across the Anacostia on the other side of town, is in much worse shape. Sousa will beat Teddy for highway $$.

At the Rosslyn Circle of Certain Death, I crossed the I-66 ramp on Lynn Street in front of a car that was jutting out into the crosswalk. The driver was looking left and I was coming from the right. I continued in front of him and he started to make his turn – into me. I yelled “Wait” at him and the panhandler on the other side of the crosswalk yelled at him too. He stopped abruptly. I don’t normally give money to panhandlers but I think on Monday I will show the panhandler some green.  This really should be a no-turn on red intersection. Drivers trying to make a right turn on red have to nudge their cars into the crosswalk to see around the railing that separates the sidewalk to their left from I-66 below. It’s just a lousy design.

The work day was difficult. It started with the discovery that I had forgotten to pack my slacks. Fortunately, I keep a spare suit at work. Otherwise I’d have had to look like M.C. Hammer all day in my biking rain pants. It would have been fun to go into a meeting and tell everyone, “Can’t touch this.”  And to have theme music all day. Truth be told, if I tried to dance like M.C. Hammer I’d hurt myself something fierce.

My tummy wasn’t happy. At all. I made it through the day without much joy. I was not looking forward to the ride home. I rode out of the garage a little after five and into a dark, cold rain. It felt like some of the raindrops were frozen. They weren’t but I was pretty cold none the less. The ride home was made more difficult by dense fog that was thickest along the river. I had wet glasses, fog, and headlights in my eyes. About two miles into my ride, I almost hit a ninja on the humpback bridge. As I rolled past, I said “I can not see you.” Twice. He’ll figure it out when he has a bicycle wheel up his butt.

A little further along I heard a quack. I nearly ran over two mallards in the fog. Damn, it was hard to see. Fortunately the rain let up and I made it the rest of the way unscathed. It’s frustrating going so slowly but when I got home I felt like I could ride 10 miles per hour forever.

Tonight was the night that my son and I were to take a second try at fixing the sink in the downstairs bathroom. After about an hour,we had everything nearly perfect. I nudged the countertop one last time and the drain pipe snapped. Ugh. So we found a spare drain pipe and it was ever so slightly smaller in diameter. No Mas. I called a plumber. Instead of going to the DC Randonneurs’ Populaire ride (a little under 70 miles) tomorrow, I’ll be hanging at home waiting for Mr. Buttcrack. It’s all for the good. I’ve already ridden 150 miles since Monday. And half the pipes in the house are dripping.

I was up all night. It happens sometimes. I started to think about a paper I will be writing at work in a few weeks. I mapped out the whole thing in my head. This took the better part of the 3 a.m. hour. I was back to sleep only to be stabbed in the ear by my alarm clock. Big, glowing 6:00.

I was out of the house by 6:35. It was still dark but I wanted to get to Coffee Club with enough time to hang out. The ride to DC was automatic. I rode past the review stand for the innaugural parade on Pennsylvania Avenue in front of the White House. Everytime I see the White House or the Capitol, I have to shake my head. This is such a cool place to live.

There was a decent crowd at Swings for Coffee Club. I like talking to big people but I love talking to babies. Jacques walked in with his baby, Hugo. This child broke the cute-o-meter on my camera. Jacques is one proud papa. Hugo is so calm and good natured.

Jacques had fun raising him up above his head. Hugo was having a blast. Felkerino took Hugo for a minute or two. Hugo decided that Felkerino’s head was a play toy. Does this ear come off? Nope.

Then Hugo decided to share his breakfast with Felkerino. I do believe that jacket is waterproof, Felkerino.

After fun with babies, I headed off to the office. I made it almost all the way across the TR Bridge without having to stop for inbound cyclists. Then two appeared. Drat. I do hope that the next renovation of this bridge includes a wider side path.

I left work a few minutes later than usual. It was still light out. Daylight makes me sound like Marv Alpert. Yesss!  I checked the Interwebs and learned that in early January we pick up about 1 minute of daylight everyday. By the end of January we will be picking up 2 minutes of daylight per day. All told, January 31 has 45 minutes more daylight than New Years Day. Please, please, please get here quickly.

Big Nellie carried me to work all three days this week (I worked from home on Monday). We are getting along great these days.

The Mule is in need of some TLC. I recently bought some brake pads for The Mule. It was warm enough outside to do bike maintenance so I put the pads on. It took me about 20 minutes, about half the time it took the last time I installed pads. I am actually going up the bike maintenance learning curve.

The Mule’s chain has seen it’s better days. I took the bike on the car rack to Spokes Etc. Belle Haven store to drop it off. I told the mechanic I wanted a new cassette, a new chain, two new sprockets and new bar tape. He told me that my chain rings looked fine. So we dropped the chainrings from the work.

Then he asked me if I could wait. 20 minutes later I rolled The Mule out of the shop with its new chain, cassette and bar tape. Lesson learned. January is a great time to get work done on your bike! Thanks, Colin!

Spoke’s Belle Haven store has been a godsend for me, especially back when I had only one bike. I’d roll in on the way home from work and they’d make adjustments and do minor repairs while I waited. They still do. A bike commuter’s best friend is his local bike shop.

Time to go.

The weatherman called for a nasty winter storm today. There woudl eb a wintry mix in the morning followed by cold rain and high winds in the afternoon.  Any sensible person would have worked from home or driven to work. As most of my readers know, I am not a sensible person.

It sounded like I’d be getting snowed on in the morning so I left the overboots at home and planned to deal with the afternoon rain by putting my wool-stockinged feet into plastic bags and then putting on my biking shoes.

Otherwise I wore what I normally wear for inclement weather: a base layer and shorts covered on top by the holey sweater and a Marmot Precip shell for top and bottom. I put the hood up on the jacket.

I selected Little Nellie for the adventure and headed out into a driving snow. Actually it was probably snowing straight down but my 11 mile per hour speed made it look like it was snowing sort of sideways.  The first couple of miles wasn’t half bad. I came to a crossing on the GW Parkway and didn’t have to brake.  The long boardwalk at Dyke Marsh was covered in a thin layer of snow, but Little Nellie handled it without a slip.  As I pedaled north the wind was picking up. It was coming from the river to the east. Once I cleared Belle Haven Park the wind seemed to intensify. Icy bits of sleet were now mixed in with the snow. My face was getting stung as if by hundreds of little cold bugs. My balaclava wuld have been a better choice than my neck gaither and a watch cap. 

The bike path had some snow covered tracks from runners and cyclists but people were few and far between. The Belle Haven bald eagle nest was unguarded. Six miles into the trek, the bricks on the Washington Street deck were covered with a glazing. I rode down underneath the Woodrow Wilson Bridge without slipping and made it through the bollards at the base of the hill without harm. I took a left onto South Royal Street. I don;t normally do this but the Cathloic SUVs at St. Mary’s School had taken the week off leaving the road empty of motor vehicles.

As I rode up Royal Street, I took extra care to let cars have their way. The slushy precipitation obstructed views out of side windows making me all but invisible dispite my lights for and aft.

At the north end of Old Town I took the river route around the power plant and the Slaters Lane apartments. This meant I had to ride on some treacherous stretches of wooden bridges. I slowed waaaaaay down and made it across all three of the bridges without sliding at all. The precipitation was now slowing but the glaze on the trail made it feel like I was skating rather than riding. Still Little Nellie stayed upright.

Gravelly Point is an exposed area and the wind off the river was buffetting me about. Here, about 11 miles into my commute, I could tell that the plastic bags on my feet were not working at all. The front third of my feet were freezing.    

I looked down to check my panniers and saw that the rear brake cable was covered in a chunk of ice. My left crank are was too. My front brake pads were covered in ice as well. I hoped that I didn’t have to stop. No worries. I was alone on the trail.

North of the Memorial Bridge I spotted a man running with two unleashed labrador retrievers. Fortunately, the dogs stayed with their master and never approached me. 

I was expecting some sliding at the boardwalk under the Roosevelt Bridge.There was only a quarter of an inch of snow but these wooden bridges are incredibly slippery under these conditions. I slowed and found good traction.

The absence of other people meant that I could cut the corners on curves in the trail for most of the ride. This meant not having to turn, which is a good thing under these conditions. I was hoping the switchback bridge from the trail up to Rosslyn was not going to be a problem. I made it to a 30-yard steep section on the Rosslyn side of the Parkway. Instinctively, I stood to climb and my rear wheel started to slide sideways. i sat and the wheel gripped. I stayed in the saddle for the rest of the ride up to the Rosslyn Circle of Doom.

The light changed and I had the right of way across the I66 ramp. Having nearly been hit three times I now wait to make sure all the cars coming up the ramp stopped at the red light. Sure enough, a silver sedan came right on through and took a right on red without stopping.  

When I got to the office, I checked out my bike. My rear brakes, the reare brake cable, both crank arms and my front brakes were all encapsulated in ice. My feet were frozen. My clothes were covered with slush.

My office is festooned with wet cycling clothes. My biking shoes are stuffed with a copy of the Epoch Times, a free newspaper I stash in my office for days like this.

The ride home is going to be a beast. I can’t wait.

 

It was a tweener weather day. The thermometer said 49 degrees. Fog hung on the moors. Hounds bayed in the gloom. I decided to wear my rain pants over my shorts to avoid freezing. Instead, withing a mile or two, my legs were wet from sweat. Big Nellie’s fairing was making my legs uncomfortably warm. In Old Town I passed Nancy Duley, who was wearing lycra bikes shorts. She had pulled over to the side of the trail to take a bracing pull from her bourbon-filled flask. Okay, I made that last part up. She was straddling her bike on the side of the trail. We said our “Good Mornings!” as I rode past. It just occurred to me that she is always smiling. And she almost always seems to be riding away from work. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

About a half mile after my encounter with Ms. Duley, I decided that cold legs were better than sweaty legs. I stopped and pulled off my rain pants. It was good planning that I had worn mountain bike shorts underneath, because, otherwise, I’d be writing this from the Alexandria City jail. Back on the bike again I realized I had traded warm, sweaty legs for cold, wet legs. Scar was right. Life’s not fair.

The rest of the ride into Rosslyn was copacetic. I didn’t get killed riding through the Circle of Doom, otherwise I’d be writing this from the great beyond, the sweet by and by.

We had our office Christmas lunch today. Just before my food arrived a waiter lost control of a tray he was carrying. I had slung my waterproof bike jacket over the back of my chair. The fallen tray loosed a slow motion splash of ketchup across the back of my jacket. I took the brunt of the splash, thereby saving my office mates from a mass trip to the dry cleaner.

After the lunch we were allowed to go home. I went back to the office for a little bit to finish off some this and that and was on the road long before sunset. I rode home in daylight!!! I didn’t dissolve or sparkle which depending on how old your vampire lore is pretty much means that I am not the undead. I could still be a werewolf but the full moon is weeks away. (Ahhh Oooooh!!!)

Big Nellie did a nice job tacking through the blustery winds. On windy days fairings make for a challenging and rewarding ride.

When I got home, I through the jacket into the washer with some other stinky bike commuting clothes, of which I have bo-ku.

Then I realized that it felt like 2 a.m. at 5 p.m. And I was shaking with cold.

There wasn’t any garlic around and we don’t have a crucifix in the house.

I am the unwell.

I left early this morning. It being just a few days before the winter solstice, this guaranteed me an extra dose of darkness. When you’re working on a vitamin D deficiency, you can’t get too much darkness. In addition to being dark it was foggy. I felt like Rudolph with his nose on backward.

Other than being kind of depressing, it was a pretty nifty commute. The Mount Vernon Trail was all but empty. Near the power plant I spotted a hawk in a tree looking out over the river. I think it was a hawk. It was big. It didn’t have bald eagle markings. Of course, it could have been an immature bald eagle but I forgot to put an ornithologist on my speed dial so we’ll have to settle for generic hawk.

In addition to being foggy it was warm-ish. I left the holey sweater at home and wore a t-shirt over my base layer.

The ride home was a replay of the ride in. Except there were several ninjas. So far I’ve done an amazing job of not thinning the ninja herd. It’s bad when you wear all dark clothing on an unlit trail. It’s worse still if you are backlit by car headlights. It’s almost inevitable that I will hit one of them. They are simply impossible to see until I am right on top of them. I am averaging a whopping 11.3 miles per hour so it’s not like I’m setting any speed records or outriding my headlight.

I am looking forward to tomorrow. The temps will be warm-ish for one more day. And I am hoping to leave work early and avoid the headlights on the way home.

On Sunday I plan on riding to the city to see the Hains Point 100. A bunch of cyclists will be riding a 3 mile loop to raise money for the Washington Area Bicyclists Association. WABA is trying to get more women on bikes. Hopefully most of the riders will be women. I have donated in support of Kate , who is riding. Go Kate!

It was cold this morning. 26 degrees at the Masonite-enclosed Rootchopper Weather Center. I was in a hurry to get to the early edition of Friday Coffee Club. It was not to be. I had to dig out my fleece lined over boots and put an extra layer of clothes over my legs.

Big Nellie and I rolled into the darkness. All was well until a light shined down upon us. Trumpets blared. Angels sang. I stopped to take a picture (sadly blurry).

It’s been a tough year for Big Nellie. She had a nasty crash. She tried to eat Flor’s pants. Her chain broke. Her seat needed to be replaced.

All that’s behind her along with 31,000 miles.

I made it to Friday Coffee Club but only after Mary and Lisa had left for work. We passed like bikes in the morning in front of the White House. I am sure the President was looking out his window and thinking, “I wish I could ride my bike to work in the cold. Instead I’m stuck being leader of the free world and stuff.”

Poor Barry.

When I got to Swings for the FCC I was taken aback by the number of people there. Apparently they didn’t get the memo that it was COLD outside.

I met Nancy, a newbie and the thrid graphic artist in attendance. Laura, who hasn’t been coming lately, came despite having an office Christmas party last night. And I learned that you can make a Christmas tree out of a lamp. Sort of.

I left for work a little late. I had a ten o’clock meeting. I got to my desk and an email told me that the meeting was canceled.

I could’ve had another cup.

It’s December 10. But for the limited daylight, it felt like October 10. I mean it was 60 degrees out when I left work. I’d have ridden in shorts but the shorts I had on under my rain pants are immodest to say the least. They are made by a company called Jackson and Gibbons. They are touring shorts with a chamois and an unusually short inseam. I think the polite way to put it is the inseam is too short particularly for male persons. So I have to either wear them with underpants or get arrested for flashing.  This is a shame because they are super comfortable, otherwise.

The ride to work was supposedly into a headwind, but with two days’ rest I felt like i had a tailwind. The Mule wasn’t complaining a bit.  The tree with the Belle Haven nest had two bald eagles in it. And in a smaller tree just in front I spotted a great blue heron. Dang. Birds o’plenty. Just off the trail underneath the Roosevelt Bridge I spotted another heron.

On the way home I could hear some mallards quacking up a storm in the river under the Roosevelt Bridge. I am sure they were all worked up over RGIII. 

Rare Football Digression: I admit that I watched the Redshirts play yesterday. Memo to RGIII: make sure you have a guarantee on the contract, dude. You keep leaving your legs out like that and some big sombitch’s gonna snap ’em right off. Ask that Theisman fella.

So today’s superb bike commuting weather was brought to you by all those folks who drive to work and heat their homes to 76 degrees. The downside is soon I will be able to fish for frankenfish from my front doorstep. 

After nearly a year over on Blogger, I reached my memory limit. That means I can’t add photos to my blog without paying Google for the privilege. Since I am not a fan of Google’s attempts to assimilate me into their Borg-like universe of other products, I’ve decided to move my blatherings over here to WordPress. It’s a bit overwhelming but in time I should have some content up. Stay tuned.

Oh, and if you just stumbled on me here, you can read my old stuff over there.

Every one in DC has allergies. I defy you to find someone who isn’t suffering for a significant portion of the year.  I lived allergy free for most of my young life. While living in Providence I noticed that I would get a headache every spring, but thought nothing of it.

Then I moved to DC. On a periodic basis my head would feel like a lead weight, I’d get nauseous, and I’d cough up bizarre looking gunk.  I had allergies. A few times I even thought I had the flu. As it turned out these episodes were sinus infections.

Why do we in DC get allergies? Because nobody in DC is from DC. If the eastern United States were a Venn diagram, DC would be at the cross over between northern allegens, southern allergens, and Allegheny allergens. Yes, folks we have them all. If you grew up in Vermont, you were never exposed to the plants of the south. Surprise! You are screwed. Same goes for you folks from Georgia who moved here. You will get sick. It’s only a matter of time.

My doctor, who has since left the practice to open up a boutique wellness practice (I am not making this up), advised me some time ago, after my umpteenth sinus infection visit, to go on a daily routine for allergies. This includes a 24-hour non-drowsy antihistamine and a nasal steroid spray. I was already on a daily baby aspirin, a statin, an asthma inhaler, and 24-hour asthma pill,  plus I a fish oil pill. This regimen was starting to get tedious. I stopped taking the statin a couple of years ago because the nerves in my feet went haywire. That still left 5 daily medications. 

At one point Doctor Wellness advised me that the asthma medications might be too much. He invited me to experiment. I found that the Singulair pill was unnecessary so I stopped taking it. My tolerance for nincompoops at work increased dramatically. (It turns out that Singulair makes some people impatient and grumpy.) The inhaler was stayed.

This week I decided to drop the allergy medicine to see how I’d do without them. Short answer: not well.

I went off the allergy medications on Tuesday, rode my bike to work in absolutely glorious weather, and, by Tuesday night, had a stuffy head and a headache.  I used a saline rinse to clear my head and took some ibuprofen and felt fine on Wednesday morning. I rode to work. It was another perfect day for a ride.  I felt fine until about 10 a.m. when I had the urge to throw up.  I walked to the bathroom and called Ralph on the big white phone.

That should make me feel better, I thought. I walked back to my office. In no time Ralph was calling me back. I trudged to the bathroom and Ralph and I had another brief but less productive conversation.

Back at the office the words on my monitor seemed to be saying: RALPH WANTS YOU! I made a valiant effort to keep working but Ralph was winning the battle. I sent an email to my boss and the office time keeper and left for home. The time keeper offered to drive me home but I declined. The last thing I needed was to ride shotgun in a car.  I could have called Mrs. Rootchopper who works a short distance away but she was going to have the first radiology appointment for cancer treatment later that day. My family knows how to party.

After changing into my biking clothes and stopping at the bathroom to check in with Ralph one more time, I took the elevator to the garage. I got off the elevator and bump into the number two person in our agency. Lovely, she probably thinks I am cutting out early to enjoy a ride in the beautiful weather. She got it half right.

I left the garage on Little Nellie only to hit a big traffic jam in front of my office. The electric company was doing some work underground and had closed off the bike lane.  I sat in traffic waiting for the upstream traffic light to turn green. When it did, I wobbled and took out one of the utility’s orange traffic cones with my pannier.  There was no where to stop to raise the cone and, if I did, who’s telling what Ralph would have said, so I pedalled on. I made the next three traffic lights and was soon coasting down the hill to the Mount Vernon Trail.

As I plodded along into a moderate headwind, the warmth of the sun felt like a full body hug. The rhythm of my pedaling kept Ralph at bay.  Every so often I’d feel a wave a nausea but it would quickly fade. As long as I kept my effort moderate I was doing okay, except for the fact that my head was hanging like a lead weight. I made it to Old Town Alexandria where two wide bodied women walking side by side took up 2/3rds of the path. I waited for an approaching cyclist to pass and started to pass the walkers myself. I looked up and saw another cyclist approaching. I figured I had loads of time to finish my pass but I was moving unusually slowly and he was moving much faster than I thought. I had to veer to get out of his way. “Sorry!” I said. I would have told him I was riding with a passenger named Ralph but he was long gone.

I made it through Old Town and passed the Wilson Bridge. I caught the green light at the two street crossings and was back on the MVT proper with little problem.  About  3 1/2 miles from home the MVT starts a slow climb for about a mile to the Stone Bridge. Ralph was not much help here. My head hung low. I plodded along and made it all the way to the traffic light one mile from my house. It was red. Hang down your head and cry. Ralph didn’t like the wait, but he kept quiet. A car approaching from the other side of the intersection tripped the sensor and the light turn green.

Sorry, Ralph. No time to dawdle.  Soon we were home. Ralph had kept quiet for the entire 15 mile trip. It took about an hour and a half but we made it. 

After putting Little Nellie away, I took a long hot shower, put on some shorts and a hoodie and went to sleep in a chair on my deck.

After several hours of misery I conceded defeat and took a benedryl-like antihistamine. It knocked me out. I woke up late feeling lousy but I could at least hold down some food.  I slept for 4 more hours.  I woke up with a craving for chicken soup. I took a 24-hour antihistamine and inhaled some Campbells Jewish Penicillin.

Sometime in the night, Ralph had departed.

I am still a little groggy but feeling much better.

Tomorrow, pills in hand, I should be good to go for 2012 bike commuter number 104, and a visit to the Friday Coffee Club. I hope Ralph doesn’t come.