Every so often on my bike commutes I encounter something rare and I have to stop to check it out. Today was one of those commutes. I was cruising along in the drizzle of a gray November morning.  I am sure that the folks in the cars on the parkway next to the Mount Vernon Trail were thinking, “Those bike riders must be miserable. Or nuts.”  Well, setting aside my sanity, I can attest to the fact that I was quite comfortable. The temperature was near 60 degrees.  I was wearing waterproof pants and a waterproof windbreaker.  My feet were dry even though my shoes were not.  I had slipped my stocking feet inside two plastic bags, the kind that the newspaper comes in.  I had on my super duper water resistant long finger gloves.  Basically, I was every bit as comfortable as I am on most sunny days.

So in my be-drizzled comfort, I was spinning away when a splash of color caught my eye. At first I saw a young red maple along the trail that was showing it’s autumn stuff.  Then right next to that little tree was the fabled balloon bush of Washington.  I have heard old folks say that the balloon bush blossoms only once every 50 years. It’s blossoms of red and white balloons appear on the northwest side of the bush and only last a day or two.  They say the balloons can be seen only by the certifiably insane.

It’s one of nature’s great mysteries.  Really,  I stopped to take a picture.  Please tell me you see the balloons. And tell the guys in the white lab coats to leave me alone.

I typically complain in late October that the fall foliage is underwhelming.  I did so this year and, boy, was I wrong.  This has really been a superb year for fall colors.  Other than a freak snowstorm, we’ve had fairly calm weather with light winds.  That means the leaves hang in there a lot longer than normal.  This week leaves are finally letting go and floating to the ground but a few trees are holding out for a few more days.

On my ride to work this morning I saw one tree after another putting on a show along the Mount Vernon trail. Little Nellie finally made me stop and take a picture.  She posed with her friend Big Red with the Washington Monument in the background across the Potomac. 

In about a week the show will be over and we will be left to deal with bare trees, cold winds and gray skies.   If you look closely, you can see some trees on the far river bank. They are cherry trees. Come April they will be putting on a show of their own. I can’t wait.

After crossing the 29,000 mark on my Specialized Sequoia touring bike a few weeks ago, I switched over to Big Nellie, my Tour Easy recumbent. They are in a dead heat. Tomorrow I switch back to Little Nellie, my Bike Friday New World Tourist. She’s been feeling neglected. She only has 6,000 miles on her. Just a young puppy.

i often meet bicycle tourists when I ride around DC. Today I spotted this guy studying his map on the side of South Union Street in Old Town Alexandria. I asked him where he was from and he said Norway. Then I asked him where he’s going and he said “Key West”. Then I asked him where he was coming from and he said “Labrador”! That’s the first time anyone has said that in all the years I’ve been asking. That’s something like 2,600 miles of riding. He’s a little over half way there. I asked him his name and he told me but I forgot. Let’s call him Lars. Good luck, Lars. Safe travels.

Big Nellie and I made a stop on the way to work this morning. Here my trusty steed waits as I go inside to vote. I make a point of riding my bike to the polls (only about 1/2 mile from my house). I usually stick out from the crowd. This morning was different. A guy waiting to vote in front of me had on a yellow rain jacket, shorts and Shimano sandals with wool socks. Two biking voters at the same time! It’s like a new political movement! It’s our time! Use that democratic process to through out the car baggers! Or something like that.

Postscript: I encountered Mr. Shimano Sandals about 30 minutes later riding to work on the Mount Vernon trail near the power plant.

Post postscript: The incumbent member of the VA House of Delegates for my district, Scott Surovell, rode his bike cross country after graduating from college.

Today was the first commute after we dialed the clocks back to standard time. With this adjustment I now have a morning commute in daylight (well, mostly anyway) and an evening commute in the dark. This morning I had to deal with dense fog for the first four miles or so.  I was a little worried about visibility but my lights and reflectors probably make me hard to miss. 

Neighborhood Street during Mile 1

I didn’t stop to take a picture of the layers of fog blanketing Georgetown this morning or of the Cathedral which seemed like a ghost in the clouds. 

The evening was fog free. The sun was about to set and I was cruising along the Mount Vernon Trail when I came upon this scene. I’ve lived here for 28 years and I never tire of the views of the city that I get from the trail.  Not a week goes by when I don’t stop to take in the sights at least once.   

Monuments under the Moon

On my way to work, I noticed the traffic on the Parkway next to the bike trail. It was backed up about a quarter mile and it was still only around 730. I know not everyone can bike to work, but so many people say I’m nuts for riding my bike every day. Given a choice, why would any sane person want to sit in this traffic every day?

About two miles into my commute, I ride down a steep hill on Park Terrace Drive. The top of the hill was socked in with a heavy fog this morning. Riding down this hill in the morning is a real eye-opener, especially when it’s only 35 degrees. I can go as fast as 38 miles per hour during the descent. At the bottom, I hit an s-curve – a hard right followed immediately by a hard left – to make things even more interesting. This morning’s fog added a new feature: I couldn’t see more than a few feet beyond my front wheel. Need less to say, it was an interesting way to start the day.

It was the morning of Halloween. Normally, around these parts, I can hope to be riding in pleasantly cool weather. This morning was downright cold.  There was definitely frost on my pumpkin, if you know what I mean (wink, wink, nudge, nudge).  The frost was accompanied by a creepy fog, very appropriate for the day.

Big Nellie doesn’t like frost. Big Nellie has about 75 percent of her loaded weight on the back wheel.  One little slip and Big Nellie takes a dive.  Having already hit the pavement once this month, I decided to be extra careful when I hit the Mount Vernon Trail this morning.  This is the long wooden bridge at Dyke Marsh. It’s a lovely 200 yard stretch of the trail but the thin coating of rime made it very slick today. In fact, when I stopped to take this picture on a slight incline, Big Nellie started to slide backward. No worries. I gained a good footing and was soon off to work. I have about a dozen of these wooden bridges between home and work so I was a little late getting to the office.

On the way home I came upon some grafitti. It has been on the trail for a few days. Big Nellie doesn’t like grafitti..Big Nellie especially doesn’t like grafitti that is extracted from a pop song that she’s never heard before. Why doesn’t the grafitti say something useful like “Some kind of happiness is measured out in miles.”  Big Nellie would like that.  Her odometer is closing in on 29,000 miles.  Once she gets there, she goes down into the basement for the winter. She can use the rest.

Gotta run. The little urchins failed to eat all the candy. So much chocolate. So little time.

I slept poorly last night.  Maybe I felt badly after seeing the Saints score over 60 points against the Colts who appear to have moved from Indianapolis to Hapless.  Or maybe I felt bad for wasting a beautiful Sunday mowing the lawn. Or maybe ten days of riding in a row has made me overtired.

In any case, I woke up grumpy and planned to stay that way.  I normally have everything laid out for my transition to bike commuting.  Helmet here. Shoes there. Panniers loaded. This morning everything was where it should have been but I couldn’t find the battery pack for my light. And my riding clothes were in three different places. And I couldn’t find my ID. And, I’m NEVER going to get out of here!!!!

Fifteen minutes of crabbing later, I was on Big Nellie, my Tour Easy recumbent, and off to work.  My legs felt tight despite a helpful tailwind. It just seemed like I couldn’t find a riding rhythm.  Then five miles into my ride I looked up and saw something I haven’t seen since spring. A bald eagle next to its nest near Belle Haven Country Club.  On a lower branch of  the same tree, a great blue heron was perched like a Dr. Seuss bird.  In a few weeks the herons and egrets will be gone so this was a bit of a treat. 

Unfortunately, my point-and-shoot camera was not quite up to the task, but if you squint you can see the eagle in the upper right and the heron dead center in the picture, below the eagle’s nest.

A hundred yards up the trail, I crossed the bridge over Little Hunting Creek and saw a huge splash in the water. I don’t know what it was but it was hefty. 

Well, all that certainly improved my mood. A few miles later at the half way point of my commute I spotted trouble in the water. Pirates! Avast!  A tall ship was making its way down river across from the power plant.  Once again my camera did what it could but the ship was about a quarter mile away. 

You have to admit it’s pretty cool to spot a tall ship on a Monday morning.  All this cool stuff was actually starting to strip away my orneriness.  (If that’s even a word.)

Another half-mile up the trail and I get a splash of color smack in the face.  Yes, fall is upon us here in DC and the trees are starting to turn.  This one was pretty good but I know the show is only just beginning. 

Now that I’d blown ten minutes stopping to gawk, I got down to the business of riding to work.  My crabby attitude behind me, I made like a bakery truck and hauled buns.

In 45 minutes, I had finished the ride, locked my bike, showered and made it to my office. I got a cup of coffee, sat down at my desk and, speaking of buns, a pastry cart magically appears outside my office door. I can tell the kind hand of providence when I see it. So I bought a gooey cinnamon bun.  Monday mornings aren’t so bad after all.

The day was a bit of a grind but the ride home was sweet. After about 5 miles, the rhythm returned and I was cruising along at a healthy clip into a headwind. Even a pretty nasty cloud of skunk smell didn’t put a dent in my mood. As I made it to Old Town, I saw the tall ship docked near the Torpedo Factory. I hate sailing, and I know nothing of ships (despite having attended Herman Melville’s high school), but tall ships are magnificent.

After I escaped the Beltway, I passed a man on the trail. First, I saw his poles then I saw the two monster catfish he was holding. The darned things were bigger than my thigh.  I wanted to stop and take a picture – the fisherman was grinning with pride – but I needed to get home to check out the progress on the patio in my back yard. After two weeks of delays, the contractor had made good use of the day.  From mud pit to roughed out patio in eight hours. Not bad Luis. Pretty good for a blue Monday.