The colonoscopy went off without a hitch last week but there were two minor details left unresolved.  The doctor removed two polyps while he was doing his Fantastic Voyage thing. He told me they looked like nothing to worry about but he sent them off to a lab to be sure.  Today I went back to get the results. 

No cancer. Precancerous. Will not return. 

Sounds copacetic to me.

The finding of the polyps however elevates my risk for colon cancer so I have been moved out of the five year club and into the three year club. Small price to pay, I suppose.

Maybe in three years they will make an advancement in the prep so that it tastes delightful.  Fat chance. 

I reminded the doctor of my family history of colon cancer (my mother survived; her sister did not).  He immediately said if I have any siblings over the age of 40 that they should get tested.  So Bill, Joe, Jim, Marg, Mike and Roo step right up and get your MoviPrep. You’re on candid camera.

Here’s to 2015! 

I have been meaning to join a bunch of my fellow DC bike commuters at a local coffee shop for the last few weeks.  I think this was set up by my fellow bloggers Mary and Ed.  One week after another I have had a conflict but today I was going to get out of bed and get there.  So I left the house 15 minutes early, and rode our of camp headed into the big city.

Since Monday, I have logged 123 1/2 miles.  I was expecting to feel sluggish the whole way in.  Not today.. I had more pep in my legs than I knew what to do with. I was spinning in circles instead of mashing on the pedals.  Up the Mount Vernon Trail I went uncharacteristically passing bicyclists along the way.  I cross into DC and made my way up 15th Street when bike commuter extraordinaire Reba came along side. I followed her up the 15th Street cycle track as she blew on a whistle to clear a path through one cluster of bleary eyed tourist after another.  We banged a left onto the 1600 block of Pennsylvania Avenue. Barack and Michele waved Good Morning from their bedroom window.  (Would I lie?)

At 17 Street Reba left for work and I headed for Swing’s Coffee a block away.  Within minutes of my arrival the place became stuffed with bike commuters. Many, like Ed, Mary and me, are also bloggers.  Nice to meet you  Laura,  Kirstin, Froggie, Lauren, Lisa, Brian, Jacques and all the others whose names my feeble brain has already lost.

On the way into town, the Sequoia finally hit the 30,000 mile mark on his odometer. I am pretty sure I have lots more miles that I neglected to transfer over from the first (this is the third) odometer on this bike. It’s still a cheap thrill to watch 29,999 change to 30,000.  The last several hundred miles were not the easiest.  I discovered my rear rim is failing, my pedals fell apart, I collided with a parked car, and my rear axle sounded like it was not rotating freely.  I also had a little extra weight (a Christmas present from my sister-in-law).  Nothing like carrying an anvil to slow your roll.

Next week I switch over to my Tour Easy, which has a tad over 29,000 on its odometer. (I ride a lot.)

After leaving the coffee crew, I got hung up behind a crane building operation.  A crane was building a bigger crane right in the middle of the street.  Instead of waiting hopelessly with the cars, I hopped the curb and rode through an adjacent park.  Advantage Sequoia!

Thanks again to Ed and Mary for thinking up the coffee get togethers.  Mary even thought to bring her zombies.

I’m off the bike for three days to do some daddy duty.  And 460 miles of driving. No zombies.

I look at the calendar. It says “WINTER”. It is light out less than 12 hours. Saint Patrick’s Day is still a few days away. 

I go outside. It says “MAY”. It was 80 degrees when I left the office today.  Un-be-lievable.

I’ve been riding to work in shorts all week.  Yougottabekiddingme.

The weather gods are messing with my head.  Perhaps this is the work of Satin. Or Loki. Or the Sith, Or Vladimir Putin. Or Vlad the Impaler. Or a GOP presidential candidate. 

Oh, well. Might as well enjoy it.

Last Sunday we set our clocks forward because we are too collectively stupid or stubborn to get up an hour earlier without deceiving ourselves. Now it is dark when I leave the house and light when I ride home.

I cope. The big benefit to this is seeing amazing sunrises over the Potomac River. Here’s yesterday’s.  The buildings to the right are National Harbor. The people who built this monstrosity thought it was a big deal. The sun is more better, don’t you think.

Repeat after me: Oooh. Aaaah.

Just north of the power plant I came upon the marsh caused by some active beavers.  The water level was so high here that, a few years ago, the National Park Service re-routed the Mount Vernon Trail to higher ground. Apparently the Park Service lost patience with our furry friends and pulled the plug on their bathtub.  Now its just a big muddy mess with no waterfowl or beavers in sight.

Somewhere there’s a mighty pissed off beaver.

I received a check in the mail and wanted to cash it. My old office in DC was next to both of my banks. Neither have an office in Rosslyn where I now work.  Hmmm. Lunch time. 75 degrees. Bike in the garage. A light bulb flashes.  It’s time for Utilitaire Man!  I put some straps on my pants and hopped aboard the Sequoia for a short jaunt into Georgetown. Without a helmet on I felt like some young urban bike hipster weaving in and out of traffic.  I think the gray hair, bald spot and pot belly gave me away though. I got to the bank and lo and behold it had nifty bike parking next to the front door.  As Wayne Campbell might say, “Excellent.” 

Bikin’ and Bankin’

I grabbed a sandwich after my banking was done and soon re-discovered that Rosslyn’s Gateway Park near Key Bridge is an unpleasant eyesore. Hard to complain though. I was eating outdoors in my shirtsleeves in March!

The ride home from work was awesome. It was 80 degrees. I decided to divert from my normal route and cross Memorial Bridge into DC to check out the cherry blossoms.  Peak bloom is still a few days away but they are still so, so pretty.  I hope to get over again early next week.  We’ll see.

Blooms in East Potomac Park

Back in Virginia, I took the Mount Vernon Trail home after re-crossing the Potomac on the 14th Street Bridge.  As I passed the airport I spotted a plan coming in over Long Bridge Park and Roaches Run to the west of the airport. It crossed the trail just as I approached. 

Duck!

I am having way to much fun riding in this week.  I rarely get to ride in all five days.  And never in shorts in March.  I’ve already logged 123 miles this week. Yikes.  We’ll pay for this somehow. 100 degree, code red days. Earthquakes. Hurricanes.  Something wicked this way comes.

It was a comfy 60 degrees for my ride to work this morning. A steady tailwind pushed me along. I feeling my tailwind oats, that incredibly gullible sense that today I am stronger than Lance. Until I realize the planes are taking off in the direction I am coming from and the flags are pointing my way. A genuine tailwind sucker was I.

The ride home was into the teeth of the same wind, but I didn’t mind. The digital thermometer on my bike computer read “80” for most of the way. It’s not even Saint Patrick’s Day yet! The trees are suckers for this and are blooming at least two weeks early. I don’t mind at all.

The ride home was nearly ruined by a Lancelot who passed me without warning as I passed a walker along a narrow stretch of the Mount Vernon Trail. I felt a tick on my left hand. The passing asshat actually made contact. No “Sorry”. No “My bad”. He was in a big hurry to get home and admire his engorged quads in the mirror. Someday he’ll be admiring the CT scan they do after he goes ass over pea brain into a tree along the trail.

One of the best parts of my bike commute comes at the beginning of daylight savings time. Just as I reach the Potomac River, three miles into my ride to work, I get to watch the sun rise. Here, the Sequoia with its spiffy new Velo Orange touring pedals. leans on a railing in Dyke Marsh.

From time to time I come upon bald eagles on the Mount Vernon Trail. Today, while test riding my new Velo Orange touring pedals, I hit the trail south of where I live. I picked the trail up just south of Fort Hunt Park.  About a half mile before reaching Mount Vernon, I passed a woman standing on the trail and looking up into the trees. As I passed I made eye contact and said, “Bald eagle?”  She said “I dunno.”  I kept riding and thought, when she sees one, she’ll know.

About 90 minutes later I was retracing my route.  I came to an elevated boardwalk section of the trail just south of Fort Hunt Park.  There were five or six people looking up into a tree that was arched over the boardwalk. I glanced up and RIGHT there was a big bald eagle.  He was between 15 and 20 feet up in the tree and doing his regal scanning thing.  The trail here is about 15 feet above the river bank so my little friend was perfectly situated to check out the menu at the Potomac Fish Market.

I took a few pictures and started to walk underneath to see if I could get an interesting angle. Splat!  I think he took offense!  Bald Eagle poo is a lot like pigeon poo, white and liquid. Thankfully, he missed me.  Not finding a better shot, I rode off. As I did with my back to the eagle, a passing cyclists said that he just took off.

I think the pedals passed the test..

After driving 860 miles in two days, I decided that Sunday would be a day to fix up a couple of my bikes then head out for a ride.  I forgot, however, that I am mechanically inept.

All I was going to do was swap out a set of pedals and toe clips on the Sequoia. Easy Peasy.  Not so fast, wrench head.  I had the left pedal off in seconds. Put the pedal wrench on the nut part of the pedal axle. Hold the pedal down with one foot. Push. No problem. Done it a million times. I open the box of pedals from Velo Orange and the first problem arises.  There’s no indication of which pedal is left or right. Since the threading on the left pedal is reversed, this is critical information.

So, I take off the old pedals and carefully examine the threads.  I think I id’ed the left pedal.  I start to thread the pedal on and I notice there’s no nut part.  There’s no way to use a pedal wrench on this thing.  WTF.  I can get it on but I’ll never get it off.  So I search the Velo Orange website to no avail.  I call Velo Orange and, well, it’s Sunday.  They’re probably on their bikes enjoying the weird design of their pedals!  So the Sequoia goes back in the shed.  I send them a WTF email. 

Next up, my Tour Easy recumbent.  I need to order a new seat for it.  So I go and check the design of the old seat.  Go to the company’s website and it asks me for the frame size. To me it’s “enormous”, but that’s not one of the options.  So I go searching for the purchase receipt which should be in the folder with all my bike paperwork.  Should be. It isn’t.  I finally find a repair receipt for my bike. It has the serial number on it.  Yess! I call Bikes at Vienna where I bought the bike and have it repaired. Nobody answers. Of course. It’s Sunday.  They aren’t open yet.  I wait until noon. Call back at 12:05. They have a long history for me in their computer but the computer doesn’t have the spec sheet for the bike. They say check the manufacturer’s website.  They’ll list the wheel base of the different sizes.  I do. They only list up to size large. Argg!

The folks at Bike at Vienna do tell me that the pedals should be put on with a big allen key! They’ll happily put the pedals on for me. They, alas, are 23 miles from my house.

I’m going out to search for the appropriate sized allen key. 
  
I was going to start my taxes tonight but I think that may be unwise.

Epilogue (A Quinn Martin Production):

I called Spokes about the pedal. They said bring it in. On the spot Chris at Belle Haven checked the threads put the right pedal on, fiddled and diddled. Voila.  On the road again….

Now for the Tour Easy seat….

The Sequoia has the withers.  It is fading away day by day, pedal stroke by pedal stroke.  I rode to work in near-60-degree weather with a nice tailwind.  The Sequoia acted like a horse being reined in.  And the pedals clicked and the bike squeaked. 

The ride home began in 70 degree weather into a strong headwind. I had so much weight on my bike I was pretty sure I would be staying rubber side down. (A 925 page novel was in one of my rear panniers. No ebooks for me.)  All the way home the bike seemed to resist rolling. The pedals clicked and occasionally caught.  Further.

As I went under the railroad bridge across from East Potomac Park a man rode past me with a toddler in a seat in front of him.  I felt utterly pathetic.  10 miles per hour into the gale.

Dad and Toddler on Cool Bike

As I made the bend on Gravelley Point there was the man and the toddler.  I pulled over to admire the bike set up.  This little girl had nice high perch in front of dad.  They could talk as he pedaled.  She was protected from the wind by a small fairing with an apron hanging from the bottom.  Very cool set up.  I took a picture of the bike with the toddler on it.  Then I took a picture of the bike and saw wires.  It had an electric motor.  That’s how he rode by me so fast.

Electric Dad Bike

After a brief chat I left as a plane came in low as approached the runway.   It never gets old.  I’ve been watching planes land and take off since I was a little kid sitting in my family’s Ford Country Squire station wagon at Albany Airport.  Way ahead of Wayne Campbell.

The right pedal caught several times on the way home but I managed to free it up.  By the time I arrived home it felt like it was going to disintegrate.  I took the bike into the shed and checked it out for the other noises.  As I stood over the bike, I could hear squeaks.  I looked left and right. More squeaks.  The bike wasn’t moving. Then I realized that the noises were coming from my helmet!  Doh.

Since I was checking the bike out anyway, I sprayed lube into the pedals (aren’t they supposed to be sealed?) and on the dolly wheels of the rear derailler.  Then I cleaned the chain using my old t-shirt and citrus cleaner method. Added some Pedro’s Ice Wax and quiet was restored for now.

I suspect that the groaning noise I am hearing is the read axle which needs to be overhauled or replaced. That I will do whenever Mavic decides to ship my rim.  It’s been on order for a month.  I suspect this is why Germany invaded them twice in the 20th Century.  Ich vant mien velo parts!!! 

I’m getting some new pedals tonight. 

Eventually, the Sequoia will be restored to its youthful glory.  I hope. 

Not long ago I replaced the front wheel on the Sequoia, a bike with 29,000+ miles on it.  The brake wouldn’t work no matter what I did to it. The brake wouldn’t work because the rim had begun to cup. This sort of thing happens after over 18 years of use. 

So I put the Sequoia away for a while and came back to a couple of months later, only to discover that the back wheel wouldn’t turn freely and the back brake wouldn’t work properly.  The mechanic at Spokes, my local bike shop, adjusted the rear hub in a couple of minutes and warned me that it may need a rebuild (which means new ball bearings and grease).  Meanwhile I ordered a new rim from Mavic to match the front rim. 

Then I rode my Tour Easy, another bike with 29,000+ miles on it, in the basement.  The left pedal was making all kinds of noise.  It was starting to disintegrate just as it had done a few months before. I took it in to Spokes to replace the left crank arm and the pedals.  

While the Tour Easy was in the shop, I crashed the Sequoia and bent the front fork.  Spokes bent the fork back and I was good to go.  I rode the bike during the Halvvasa ride and had no problems. Today, I rode the bike and the right pedal was wobbling. When I got home I discovered that both pedals were coming apart. And the rear wheel was, once again, not spinning freely.

So I check out the Tour Easy and the mesh seat back seems to be tearing apart.  I also need a new seat pad so I am considering getting an entirely new seat.  $365.

Are these two bikes trying to tell me something?  Wouldn’t a nice shiny new bike fit nicely under the Easter tree or bush or,….,whatever?

Or maybe that tadpole trike I’ve been thinking about.

I’ll be broke no matter what I do.

Hmmmmm…..

Registration

Swedes are crazy people.  You would be, too, if you lived way up north and didn’t hardly see the sun for most of the winter.  At the end of winter, as proof of their insanity (as if the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and Abba were not enough), thousands of Swedes participate in a very long Nordic skiing event called the Vasaloppet. Along the way, they eat lots and wash it down with warm blueberry soup.  (Would I make this up?)

I belong to the Washington Area Bicyclists Association (WABA).  Every March, WABA teams up with the Swedish embassy to host a bicycling version of the Vassaloppet.  Some folks do the entire 60 mile ride. They must be Swedes. I, however, am of Irish extraction. I don’t do 60 mile rides in 45 degree weather. So I did the Halvvasa, which apparently is Swedish for Half Vasaloppet.

Pre-Ride: The Crowd Gathers

I drove to DC at an ungodly hour for a Sunday morning.  Coffee was my co-pilot.  I parked near the Jefferson Memorial and rode my Sequoia two miles along the river to the ride start/finish at the Swedish embassy along the Georgetown waterfront. This would be the test ride for my recently repaired front fork.

Bike Friday Club of DC – Jonathan and Me

The full Vasa ride had already left on its 60 mile trek. I picked up my cue sheet and found Jonathan Krall, like me a member of the Bike Friday Club of DC. We chatted with some other Halvvassed riders then headed out into a steady headwind.

Regina – Have Smile, Will Ride

The route takes trails and roads west to Great Falls Park, mostly along the Capital Crescent Trail and MacArthur Boulevard. This is a pretty flat ride save for a short-ish hill near the reservoir. We rode past Glen Echo Park, a mothballed amusement park of yesteryear and over the Cabin John Bridge.

The climb up into Great Falls is challenging.  It’s probably 1/2 mile long which is long enough to find a climbing rhythm.  We took Falls Road into Potomac Village spotting a flock (“flock” isn’t the right word here) of vultures snarfing down Sunday brunch – a deer carcass on the side of the road. Gross. 

The Boots Rider Had a Moustache on Her Bike.

Dude, Get Off My Dream Bike

Blue Bike, White Tires, Boots!

Welcome to Sweden

After a 15 minute chat in Potomac Village, we reversed course,  Before we reached the vultures, we banged a left through the Avenel development.  Oaklyn Drive was pool table smooth with several rolling hills.  It’s as nice a biking road as you will find. As I was about to pass the riders in front of me, I caught sight of a bicycle moving very fast on my left.  He was the lead rider in a club ride.  The club riders.soon were three abreast along side.  As they made their way past us, a car came from the opposite direction. The club riders compressed toward us. Thankfully, the driver was not playing Angry Birds on his iPhone and we all survived the encounter.

Swedish Innovation Exhibit

The ride back was very pleasant with a light tailwind that upped our cruising speed by five miles per hour.  Smooth sailing.  I fell into a pleasant 15 mile per hour groove and lost contact with Jonathan as he faded into the distance ahead of me.

A lovely, enthusiastic WABA volunteer called out to me at Reservoir Road and I made the right hand turn back down to the Capital Crescent Trail. Another 5 miles of scenic river riding and I was back at the embassy.    I had forgotten my lock, so Jonathan used his cable lock to lock our bikes together. Thanks, Jonathan.

Blueberry Soup

We entered the embassy and had some warm blueberry soup to celebrate our day.  We chatted with a bunch of other riders, including Mark Blacknell, whose name I have seen a million times on the Internet.  Mark is the current WABA president.  Frankly, I have no idea what that means, but his security detail and bullet proof bike were very impressive.

After Ride – Trying Out a Utility Bike

 
Good ride. Well done, WABA. Thanks for the hospitality, Swedish Embassy.

Until next year, skol, y’all.