All winter long I ride to work in the cold.  It’s still way better than sitting in a car, getting frustrated with delays.  I have to admit that by about mid-January I am ready for a warm day without snow or ice.  You know, the kind of day when you don’t have to struggle with boots over your bike shoes, with three or four layers of clothing on your top and two on your bottom.  The kind of day when you can put on your stuff in 3 minutes and be out the door and on the road. The last couple of days have been just those kinds of days.

As bike commuting weather goes, today was damn near perfect.  It was about 60 degrees with low humidity and a pleasant wind from the northwest.  The sun was shining and the puffy clouds were cruising across the sky.  I headed out on the Sequoia totally psyched about the ride ahead.

In the winter, I tend to ride slowly to keep the wind chill from freezing me.  On a day like today, I slowed my roll just to soak the glorious weather in.  About 4 miles into my commute, I came across a man painting a piece of heaven along the Potomac River at Dyke Marsh on the Mount Vernon Trail.  He said he loved the spot for the view and the fact that the trail bumped out, allowing him to paint without fear of being hit by a passing bike.  He seemed every bit as content with the day as I was.

The rest of the ride in was picture pretty. The cars in Old Town waved me along through intersections. Everyone I passed seemed to have a big smile on his face.  I thought about taking pictures but they wouldn’t come close to capturing the comfort and calm I was feeling as I cruised along.  About a half mile from work, I crossed the Washington Channel on the Case Bridge.  The boats bobbing in the water below made me envy those folks aboard (except for the fact that I get sea sick on even the calmest of waters),  So I stopped and took another picture, lingering a few minutes to let it all soak in and delaying my arrival at the ginormous government cubical farm where I would spent the next nine hours.

After doing my public servant thing, I hopped back on the Sequoia for the ride home. Some big clouds had rolled in but they were dropping only a few sprinkles here and there. The morning’s headwind was now a 15 mile per hour tailwind.  I found myself pushed along with little effort at around 20 miles per hour.  I rarely ride this fast during my commutes so this was a nice change of pace from my usual evening slog,

I was barely breaking a sweat. The humidity that makes Washington such a suffocating place in the summer had taken the day off.  As I rode through Gravelly Point, a 737 taking off from National Airport rose high over the trail. At this point the trail is several hundred yards from the end of the runway.  About 1/4 mile later, the trail passes within 50 yards of the end of a second runway.  As I approached this point, a commuter jet took off over the trail.  Right there.  Just a few feet over my head. Massively cool.

At the beaver pond south of Daingerfield Island the water seemed exceptionally low. I saw the duckings that I photographed last week paddling away in the trickle of water that remained. The ducklings were nearly twice as big as before.  I thought to stop and take a picture but my legs refused to give up the tailwind. On I rode. 

After leaving Belle Haven Park I heard the sound of emergency vehicles approaching from the rear.  This inevitably means there is an accident on the Parkway next to the bike trail. Sure enough a car had run off the road.  The airbags had deployed which usually means some part of the car hit something. The police blocked off a lane of traffic. The car commuters would have a long ride home.

 It seems weird that the car ended up perpendicular to the highway.   I decided to let the police figure it out and headed back down the trail.

Just before the trail crosses over the Parkway it connects with Northdown Road, a small lane along the edge of a very pricey neighborhood of houses along the river.  Someone was having a party with a sizable guest list.There is no on-street parking on Northdown Road, probably to discourage trail users from cluttering up the neighborhood.  The party crowd didn’t seem to care. They parked on both sides of the road. Since signs prohibited parking on the street, a few drivers parked their cars on the Mount Vernon Trail. Lovely.  I wonder if these are the same folks who bitch up a storm when cyclists use their roads.

On a hot and muggy day, this sort of thing would probably piss me off. Today, I’ll give these folks a pass. None of the road users seemed to care. We all slowed down and shared the narrowed pavement.  Maybe tomorrow if it’s hot and muggy I can all get indignant about something like this. Not today. Let’s hope it was a good party.  As for me, I still had two and a half miles to go. And it was perfect outside. June beats January any day. Today, it wasn’t even close.

After about a week of oppressive heat and humidity, this morning was a welcome change. The cool temperatures and strong breeze out of the northwest reminded me of early summer mornings in the northeast.

This was the kind of bike commute that you wish wouldn’t end. Dry, cool, and sunny. I could pedal for hours. Sadly, work was just a mile away,

Every once in a while I come across a bike tourist, usually heading up or down the east coast. This is Grace. I ran into her along a bike trail that connects the Mount Vernon Trail to the very bike un-friendly US 1. Until I stopped her she didn’t know she had missed a turn. It was her second accidental foray off route of the day. Despite these frustrations and some unpleasant heat and humidity, Grace was in a great mood. She’s been riding since Bar Harbor, Maine. She’s headed for Florida.

She was hoping to make it to Fredericksburg, Virginia today.

You know you like bike riding when you are willing to give up the comfort of your bed early on a Saturday morning to go for a hot, muggy spin. And so I did.  I drove to Croom Maryland for the 64-mile Rural Legacy Ride put on by the Oxon Hill Bicycle Club.  Having already done one of their rides, I knew it would be well organized with a reasonably challenging and pretty route. I was not disappointed.

The ride meandered along the Patuxent River which separates Price Georges County from Calvert County in Maryland.  We were about 20 miles from the Capitol but the concerns of policy wonks were 1,000 miles away. The backroads had little auto traffic – other than cyclists driving to and from the start. When we weren’t riding under a green canopy of leaves we were cruising past farm fields. I took several shots with my little camera but, frankly, I was too busy spinning my legs and enjoying the sounds of birds chirping, leaves rustling and creeks warbling.  At one point the route took us past an alpaca ranch. I’d have stopped and taken a picture but it was on a downhill and, well, when you’ve seen one alpaca you’ve seen them all.

A nice bonus to this ride is the fact that the troublesome nerves in my left knee and foot decided to take the day off.  I thought about this as I rode. I noticed that instead of pedaling in smooth cycles with my foot flat at the bottom of the pedal stroke – like so many of the rides who passed me – I was pointing my foot down and stabbing at the pedals.  Last year I nudged my saddles forward to keep from stressing the saddle rails (which I have a habit of breaking).  I think this puts my hips a little too far forward.  So today I’m sliding them back.  Saddles are much cheaper than orthopedic surgeons.

The last couple of days has been nasty hot here in the DC area.  About half way into my ride home, I get the chance to cool off by riding through an old tunnel in Old Town Alexandria.  The Wilkes Street tunnel is only about 100 yards long but it is easily 10 degrees cooler inside. It’s just enough to take the edge off. As I rode through tonight, I heard a voice talking all around me.  It was an approaching cyclists taking on his cell phone.  The acoustics reminded me of the sound tricks at the Maparium at the Christian Science Mother Church in Boston.  You really should seek it out.  I walked in one side of the glass globe and my friend Steve walked in the other.  As he talked, facing me from 30 feet away, I heard his voice clear as a bell coming from behind me.

The best part about today’s bike commute is that it was on a Friday. Tomorrow I get to do some real riding out in the country.  That should be cool.

After 5 weeks of driving to work, I finally returned to bike commuting today.  As they say in Providence, it was a scorchah, 80 degrees at 6 o’clock in the morning.  The ride in was effortless and way too short at 15 miles.

In recent weeks the Morton’s Neuroma in my left foot flared up. Basically, it feels like someone put a nail in my foot between the 3rd and 4th toes.  Last summer I saw a podiatrist who gave me a series of rather painful injections designed to relieve the pain.  They worked temporarily, but after the last one most of my forefoot went numb. I am pretty sure I don’t want my foot to feel like a nerf football, so I surfed the interwebs last night in search of an alternative treatment.

I found some videos on the web demonstrating a technique designed to relieve the pressure between the toes. Essentially, this involved putting the fingers of one hand in between the toes of the opposite foot.  And then gently moving the fingers.  I tried this and it worked a bit so I was encouraged.

Today while looking down the foot care aisle of the drugstore near work, I found these weird rubber-ish thingies that do essentially the same thing. 

You put it on and work it gently between the toes, then leave it there for 5 minutes. I bought a pair and tried it out after lunch at my desk. I’ll be damned if it didn’t work better than the finger massage.  So maybe there is hope of some relief.  It looks pretty weird. Check it out.

Having been in SUV jail for the better part of the month, I decided I had to get away from home for a ride.  So I put Little Nellie in the trunk of the car and drove to The Plains, a quaint town in Virginia hunt country.  We did a 46 mile ride up and down hills, around curves, past acres and acres of beautiful farmland. We saw an awesome eagle swoop low over the roof of a one-story house as I took a snack break.  We also had a nice talk with a member of DC Randonneurs, a group that takes distance riding pretty darn far.  600 kilometers in one weekend would probably kill me but these blokes revel in it.  One of the big rando ides in America is Boston-Montreal-Boston.  Just thinking about that distance and the mountains is enough to send me to the nervous hospital.  (I love French fried p’taters.)

Of course, if they were riding through this area I could see why they’d want to ride forever.  One beautiful vista follows the next.  Little stucco houses alongside the road. Humongous mansions set back a quarter mile on a hill. Even a private airport (owned by the Mellon family). Mocking birds chirp constantly and cattle and horses graze without a care.  Little Nellie took one steep and bumpy downhill too fast and jettisoned a water bottle just before the bottom of the hill.  I could have used that momentum to get up the next rise but I never abandon a full bottle.  (A carry over from my college days.)

 At the end of the ride, Little Nellie stopped to contemplate a sign. Where to next?

It’s been 3 weeks since Mrs. Rootchopper was run over by a clueless wonder in an SUV. She is getting better by the day.  I no longer need to help her move about, but the crutches and leg immobilizer are visual reminders that all is not right. She still has one MRI to go to determine the extent of the damage to her right leg.  Hopefully, her recovery will not involve surgery.  

Since she can move about a bit, I can get back to doing some extended bike rides. On Saturday the weather was splendid so I decided to jump on my bike and get a bagel.  Fortunately for the mileage junkie in me, my favorite bagel place is Bethesda Bagels in Bethesda, Maryland, 25 miles from home.  So I jumped on Little Nelllie and headed out.  After buying my bagel – everything with veggie cream cheese – and a drink, I headed over to my favorite dining spot, Rock Creek Trestle.  In years past, the trestle carried the Georgetown Branch Railroad over Rock Creek Park between Chevy Chase and Silver Spring.  Several years ago, this abandoned rail trestle was rehabilitated for use as part of the Georgetown Branch Trail.

What makes the trestle special is the fact that it is level with the tops of the trees.  The view, of course, varies by the season.  This time of year it is a sea of green.  The trail bumps out at either side in mid-span so that leaf peepers like me don’t get mowed down by Lancelots.  After dining alfresco,  I headed home via Rock Creek Park, an urban canyon that runs right through the city. On weekends Beach Drive, the main road in the park, is closed to motor vehicles.  The ride through the park is blissfully downhill, crisscrossing the creek under a leafy green canopy.

Several miles into my return trip I ran into Claire Bangser, the daughter of some old friends on mine. Claire and I chatted up a storm She’s about to embark on a bicycle adventure of her own. Check it out at her website.

Today was another nice day.  So I did a wicked good ride in southeastern Fairfax County.  This ride began with a short spin on the Mount Vernon Trail along the Potomac River. I made my way by road to Fort Belvoir.  After 9/11 the fort (really a large military base the size of a small city) was closed to unauthorized personnel which was a shame because it has some great road riding.  A few years ago it was re-opened to all (not a bad thing considering we’re paying for it).  These days Fort Belvoir is preparing for its much expanded role, the result of the Base Realignment and Closing (or BRAC) that consolidated military facilities nationwide. New buildings, some nice new housing (the old stuff was pretty ratty), and many new roads are part of the BRAC changes.  Long story short, some of my favorite Belvoir roads were closed off.

So I left Fort Belvoir and made my way over to Telegraph Road which I took all the way back to Alexandria.  For about one-third of this ride, I had a nifty bike lane at my disposal. After that, I was left with the bumpy, crumbling, debris-filled edge of the road which, like so many other Virginia roads, has no paved shoulder. VDOT doesn’t believe in them.

Eventually I worked my way back to the Mount Vernon Trail near the airport and headed home.  On a boardwalk overlooking a marshy area south of the airport, a cluster of walkers was gawking at something in the mud.  Ducklings!  Finally.  Watching ducklings and goslings mature is one of my favorite parts of bike commuting. I’ve missed most of this year’s fuzzy developments because I have been driving my daughter to school instead of bike commuting thanks to Mr.Clueless SUV.

These little dudes were rooting around in the mud. If they hadn’t been moving, I doubt anyone would have noticed them. Their camouflage is pretty impressive.  See how many you can find.

And so there you have it. Riding in treetops and gawking at ducklings. Two good reasons to get out on your bike and see what you’re missing.

During a break in the exciting home health care activities here at the Rootchopper Institute, I managed to go for a nice urban bike ride this Saturday.  My intent was to meet up with a few friends near Fort Totten Metro station for a tour of DC’s urban “farms”.   They didn’t show up but I decided to hang out anyway and learn all about organic urban farming.

The first thing I learned is that east coast organic food folk apparently have a different concept of a farm from, say,  my in-laws in Indiana. In Indiana, a farm is basically soybeans or corn as far as you can see, and then some.  The first time I saw an honest-to-god midwest farm I was flabbergasted.  No wonder Americans are so fat.  Every farm in Indiana grows two trillion boxes of corn flakes. And across the street there are soybeans forever.  Having never intentionally eaten a soybean, the sight of acres and acres of them was stupefying.  I mean, people, who needs that much tofu?

In DC, organic food folk use the term urban farm to mean garden.  The farm near Fort Totten was about 10 times as big as Grandpa Kerwin’s backyard garden in Freehold NJ. Grandpa Kerwin didn’t need anybody to tell him how to farm.  He lived on a farm when he was a kid.  It’s probably now a shopping mall parking lot.  I venture to guess that even in his 80s Grandpa Kerwin could grow wax beans like nobody’s business.  There were certainly not my business because he tried to foist the damn things on me when I was a kid and I can’t stand wax beans to this day. 

For 45 minutes I listened to the DC organic food folk as we toured of the Fort Totten “farm”.  I learned that there is not much new to gardening that Grandpa Kerwin didn’t know back in his salad years (sorry). For you wannabees, here is the short course in urban gardening.  Find a sunny spot.  Dig out the clay and replace it with shitloads (sorry) of manure, compost, humus and peat moss – basically any dirt that is black and cannot be turned on a potters wheel.  If you’re planning on growing carrots, add some sand.  (My father had awesome gardens.  He had his house built in the remnants of a swamp. The soil was black as coal and always damp. It pays to think ahead.)  Plant stuff. Put up little signs identifying what you planted. Add water. Use a drip hose if you want to save the planet. If you’re feeling protective, hang out in the yard with a pellet gun or a sling shot and kill the rabbits that munch on your veggies.  Skin the buggers and roast them on the barbee. Wash ’em down with cheap beer.I think they are organic. Wait ten weeks. Food happens.

Word of warning, do not plant 10 tomato plants.  We did this one year. We had tomatoes out the wazoo all summer. Our friends ran away whenever we approached with them. “Want some tomatoes?…. Come back!” 

We toured the Fort Totten farm composting operation. The bins were made out of old pallets. I’ve done some work with pallets in my lifetime. I didn’t have the heart to tell the organic food folks that the pallets they were using were probably made out of wood with toxic preservatives. Oh well.
 
After the talk, the entire group of around 40 folks rode to the National Arboretum. The group got spread out because one person had a flat tire and 15 people or so decided to “help”.  I rode ahead and stopped at a critical turn in the route.  After 20 minutes the flat fixers caught up. I pointed them toward the Arboretum and headed for home. It was hot and I had learned enough about farming for one day. I decided to take the scenic route through Anacostia.  I saw lots of unmarked police cars flying up and down Martin Luther King Boulevard. I saw poverty. I saw Saint Elizabeth’s Hospital where John Hinckley lives. I made my way to the Woodrow Wilson Bridge bike trail over the Potomac.  As I approached the trail I saw a shadow pass on the ground.  I looked up and saw a big vulture with its red head flying just above me.  It was hot and I was out of water, but I wasn’t quite dead yet so he let me go. 

A few miles later I stopped in Belle Haven Park for some water.  A big dog was slurping up water from a dish under the park pump.  The dog’s owner pulled him away and said if he drank any more he’d throw up. He might need to come to the Rootchopper Institute for some home health care. We can cure what ails you organically.

As most of you know, one of the things that brings a little joy to my life is the simple act of riding my bike to work on a regular basis.  As of about two weeks ago, I had racked up 46 bike commutes this year.  Then my wife was run over by an SUV and life changed.  You can only imagine what she’s been through the last two weeks. So I guess I shouldn’t complain.

One day a year I get to participate in Bike to Work Day.  I don’t volunteer or act as a guide. I’m just a face in the crowd who gets off on seeing so many folks enjoy the sounds and sights of riding to work along the Potomac River. Of course, it helps that I get snarf a bagel and drink some java at Freedom Plaza near work.  And I get my t-shirt. I have a rainbow of Bike to Work Day t-shirts (2 shades of green, yellow, red, white, and blue), but I won’t be at Freedom Plaza getting my purple one this year. I’ll be driving my daughter to school instead. Thanks to a careless idiot in an SUV.

So for those of you who are riding to work tomorrow, go ahead and eat an extra bagel or drink a second cuppa joe.  I will be watching you all from behind the wheel. Be nice. Have fun. I know you will.  Smile and wave as you pass.  At least one driver will be waving and smiling back.