More Better than February

I’ve been a sloven blogger lately. Mostly I’ve been out of town and off the bike. Friday was a day of unusual events. In preparing to go to Dulles to drop my daughter off, Mrs. RC blew out her right calf muscle while attempting to kill a millipede on the top of a door jamb. White wives can’t jump. Actuallu, it is the first time she has jumped since she was run over by the driver of an SUV. As she sprung up, my daughter heard a pop. It was her calf muscle tearing. Her days of playing small forward are over, we fear.

So the three of us drove to Dulles to see our 20-year old daughter leave for her semester abroad in Sydney. Our daughter moves through airports like water in a stream. She has now been to nine foreign countries, four this summer alone. (She’s been to France and England twice, so she should get extra credit.) When I was 20, I hadn’t been to 9 states!

My wife and I then drove to southern West Virginia, not far from where a fracking oil train derailed a few weeks ago. Large gatherings of people are an introvert’s idea of hell on earth. Suffice it to say, that I had burn marks before the entire thing was over. I caught up on some reading and wrote long emails to friends when I could get cell service.

We arrived back at home Sunday night at 10. I think I managed to get 6 hours of fitful sleepbefore getting up for a visit from a plumber.

After working from home all day, I was preparing to mow the lawn in the blazing heat when Kirstin sent me a message asking if I wanted to go to the Nats game. Yeah, baby!!!

I rode The Mule the 16 miles to Nationals Park in DC. I stopped to buy ice cold water and peanuts, then parked my bike with the bike valet. While waiting for Kirstin, Katie Lee rolled in. I was going to sing “Happy Birthday +1 to You” but the extra day just messes the whole song up. She looks seven years younger than when we got together in March.

Kirstin arrived. After some introductions, Katie left to join her friends inside. Kirstin and I bought some more water from a street vendor (two of our bottles were intentionally frozen solid.) and went in to our seats. Lower level 26 rows from the field. Way to go Ultrarunnergirl!

The game was a great one with a half-dozen superb fielding plays by the hometown team. Kirstin spent an inning hanging out with her friend Kate. I saw a tweet from Rudy who was sitting in the stands above us. After seven innings, I actually spotted him. It helped that he was waving like starving man on a desert island.

It was hot and muggy. Between the two of us Kirstin and I downed five liters of water and two beers by the sixth inning. As I returned from the bathroom I bought us two more beers only to find that she had bought herself one while I was away. We were thirsty.

Well, the Nats won 7-2 and we all met up at the Bike Valet. We rolled down First Street in the mugginessand darkness. Kirstin and I split off after four blocks and rode together almost to the Washington Monunment. She headed north for a long slog up to Cathedral Heights. I headed to the Mount Vernon trail.

I love riding late at night. The heat and humidity brought out a symphony of bugs and frogs. Peeps and chuckling sounds and rattles and screeches. Since my ears were filled it was somehow only fair that the trail was crisscrossed in places by spider webs. Ack!

Beneath the Wilson Bridge a homeless man as usual was sitting on the bike path in the dark. He was waving a small amber light so I wouldn’t run him over. A little further south I startled a fawn who silently ran away to my right across the Parkway. I listened for the squeal of a braking car but there was none. .

I pulled into home at midnight.

This morning, on 5 1/2 hours of sleep, I rode to work in the most oppressive muggy weather I have experienced in many a year. My legs were covered in sweat after a mile. The humidity never abated. It was just gross. I was pretty happy to get to the office but the garage in our building was a blast furnace.

After a day or reading a paper chock a block full of equations and differential calculus, I eagerly jumped on my bike and headed home. It was less gross than the morning, but it was still gross.

When I got home I decided to mow the lawn. Not the best idea I’ve ever had.

This is summer in Washington. It’s more better than February.

Carl and Little Nellie

As I posted the other day, Little Nellie, my Bike Friday New World Tourist, was in the shop for a new chain and new bar tape. I also needed some help getting a tire mounted on the front rim. When I left the bike the folks at Spokes Etc. told me that they’d have the bike back to me on Thursday.

Imagine my delight when I received an email telling me the bike was ready today. Yay!.

Imagine my befuddlement when they also told me that the front tire was flat.

What a weird email.

I tried and trued to get the tire on. It was a new Schwalbe Marathon and the Alex rims on my bike are unusually tall. The combination makes mounting tires extremely difficult. It is never a good idea to use tire levers to get the tire on because you stand a very good chance of puncturing the tube.

After over an hour of frustration and quite a lot of lost skin, I resorted to my metal tire levers to no avail. So I took the bike to Spokes and waved a white flag. Carlos tried to get the tire on and couldn’t do it so he pulled out some thin plastic levers and popped the tire on. He then pumped it up and rolled the bike into their repair queue.

So, long story short, we don’t know who punctured the tube. Wanting to get the thing fixed today, I told them to go ahead and put a new tube in. After all, I still don’t have any skin on my thumbs.

When I picked the bike up, Carl had just finished mounting the tire. With his bare hands. I asked, “How did you do this?” He explained that he pushed the wire bead of the tire into the well of the rim and, in short order, he had the tire on.

Carl’s secret is that he has tons of experience dealing with Bike Fridays and recumbents. He’s dealt with this problem scores of times. In point of fact, I tried to do what he did and I just couldn’t get the tire on.

While he had my bike, he looked it over and told me about all sorts of issues the bike has or will soon have. The rear derailer is on its last legs. He recommended a different derailer, one for mountain bikes (Deore) instead of road bikes (105), because, unlike the road derailer, the mountain bike derailer is designed to work with a wide range of gears such as Little Nellie has. He also pointed out that the cable feeding the derailer had been installed incorrectly with a zip tie. This interfered with the proper operation of the derailer. He removed the zip tie and set things right. He then pointed out that the indexing on my rear derailer shifter was about to die. This is no big deal because with a twist of a nut the shifter will work just fine in friction mode. Finally, he told me that the long cable housings on folding bikes trap water and that the next time I have work done on my bike, it would be a good idea to replace the cables and housings.

Bike Fridays are odd ducks. So are Tour Easy recumbents which have similar cable and housing issues. I consider myself pretty lucky to have Carl working just three miles from my house.

For those of you thinking that this tire mounting thing is peculiar, check out this video that describes the trick Carl used.

Much thanks to Carl for showing me the ins and outs of the drive train on my nearly 8-year old bike. Next winter, I’ll take it in for some of the work Carl recommends.

I Got Blisters on My Fingers

Little Nellie, has little wheels made with Alex rims. I don’t know who Alex is but he ain’t my friend. The rims appear to be a bit taller than most which makes putting tires on a total bitch. Schwalbe makes tires that fit tightly. They are especially difficult to put onto Alex rims.

I should point out that I do not like to use tire levers for putting tires on because I invariably end up puncturing the tube. I use my bare hands.

I bought two new tires last weekend and decided to put them both on today. It did not go well. There is a trick to putting tight fitting tires on. First you get one side of the tire on. Then you work as much of the other side of the tire on. With most tires, this is a piece of cake. With these tires it was pretty hard just to get this far. The last quarter of the tire did not want to go on. So being male and stubborn I tried and tried and tried to use brute force.

Apparently, I am a girly man.

I watched this video that shows the trick. You massage the tire. I think this relaxes the tire. It falls into a meditative state. Then you finesse it over the rest of the rim. It works for big wheel sizes. It worked (with a ton of effort) for Little Nellie’s rear tire. It simply wouldn’t work with the front tire.

After (I am not kidding) three hours of working on this, I finally gave up. I took the bike to my local bike store, Spokes Etc. Carlos took my bike and tried to push the tire onto the rim. For about 20 seconds. Then he pulled out a very flat plastic tire lever and popped it on the rim in ten seconds.

Are you efffing kidding me!

So why did I waste so much time struggling you ask? Simple. I have to be able to change the tire when I am out riding. There was just one thing to do.

I bought some flat plastic tire levers.

When I heal I will change the little tire on Big Nellie. I will use the flat plastic levers.

Biketivism – #bikedc Gets Serious

Safety First

The most important consideration to me as an everyday cyclist is safety. I’ve been extraordinarilly fortunate. I have never been hit by a motor vehicle. (Ironically, I have actually hit motor vehicles twice. Both were stationary cars.) All too many people I know have been hit. I saw first hand what a physical and mental toll this takes when my wife was run over while walking across the street on a clear spring day. Day after day of pain, tears, and brutal hard work to get back to some sense of normal. As awful as her experience was, it could have been worse. It doesn’t have to be this way.

When a bicyclist or a pedestrian is hit by a car, truck or bus, the motor vehicle wins. It’s simple physics. One would think that our laws and our transportation infrastructure would be designed to even things out. Such is not the case. If you are hit by a car in DC or Virginia and your actions contribute in any way to the crash, the driver is absolved of all responsibility for your injuries or death. This legal standard is called contributory negligence. When police give you a ticket after someone runs you over, you have to beat the ticket or you will likely be found to have contributed to the crash.

Our infrastructure often puts cyclists on the same roadways as motor vehicles. Most people have come to agree that physically separated bicycle lanes are far safer than unseparated bike lanes and cycle tracks. When we use unseparated cycling facilities we do so with the hope that motor vehicle operators will stay in their lanes and out of ours. As it turns out, in DC (and elsewhere) hope is not very effective.

Our Nation’s Main Street

Pennsylvania Avenue is often called our nation’s main street. From the White House complex to the foot of Capitol Hill, the center of Pennsylvania Avenue features a two way cycletrack. Time and again, motorists do illegal u-turns through the cycle track. Cyclists who use this facilty are sitting ducks. Most of the cycletrack is protected by flex posts and park-its. (Park-its are a sort of low curb stone, like a short speed bump.) The 1400 and 1500 blocks are unprotected. The 1400 block is the location of the Wilson Building, DC’s City Hall. It seems the districts public officials like the convenience of doing u-turns to get to and from the office.

Bicyclists have been telling the city to extend the flex posts and park-its to the 1400 and 1500 blocks, because police are ineffective at deterring u-turning drivers. The city is studying the issue. There is nothing about the 1400 and 1500 blocks that require study. (I think city officials who are so concerned with studing the issue will offer their time to the victims of u-turning vehicles during the study period. They can drive us to physical therapy. They can come to our funerals.)

18939082673_49bd46b215_z — Being a human shield doesn’t mean you can’t have a good time

Many of my friends use the Pennsylvania Avenue cycletrack on a regular basis. The epidemic of u-turns continues despite repeated efforts to document the offenses. A few weeks ago, my friend Sam decided to take action, what she calls Biketivism. She organized an event designed to raise awareness about the problem. She invited friends who invited friends. She alerted the media and the police. On Thursday, under threat of heavy rain, about 50 cyclists (including me) showed up and formed a human barrier along the cycletrack for the evening rush. Many of the cyclists like Sam and Jeff, her husband, have been hit by cars in DC. Sam brought swimming pool noodles (on the street to the right in the photo) to use as temporary park-its.

The event was serious but we had fun too. #bikedc is a pretty awesome social circle. I met new people and enjoyed the opportunity to hang out with friends.

An Unexpected Education

The experience was an eye opener for me. I thought we’d stand there, give a few interviews, get on TV and the radio, talk to some city government people and that would be it. We did all that. To my utter amazement, however, we witnessed u-turn after u-turn through the cycletrack. Cars repeatedly swerved into the cycletrack to get around bottlenecks in the car lanes. Several police officers, mostly on bicycles, sprung into action, giving the drivers warnings. After several warnings, they pulled out their ticket books. They literally could not write tickets fast enough. Drivers were doing u-turns through our line. As a cabbie slowed to do a u-turn, I warned him that it was illegal, that he could get a $100 ticket, and that a police officer was standing directly in his path if he were to do a u-turn. The cabbie shrugged and did a u-turn anyway! He got a ticket.

At one point a driver drove through the line laughing, floored it going the opposite direction, and took a right on red without stopping from the center lane. He got away with it because all the police were writing tickets!

I was flabbergasted by the behavior of the drivers. No wonder my friends are mad.

This event might have been about illegal u-turns through a cycletrack, but it’s really about a lot more. It’s a small step in changing our culture for the better. We cannot have livable cities until we rebalance the use of our streets to protect the vulnerable, to make our streets inviting spaces instead of demolition derby tracks.

Thanks to Sam for making this happen.

Here are some links to stories in the media:

Cyclists Protest to Install Protective Barriers on Bike Lanes in NW

Cyclists create human shield in push for safer bike lanes in D.C.

http://www.washingtoncitypaper.com/blogs/citydesk/2015/07/10/as-cyclists-rally-against-illegal-u-turns-drivers-make-their-point/

Making Withdrawals from the Karma Bank

It’s easy to go through life seeing the cloud in every silver lining. I am not an altogther pessimistic person but it never ceases to amaze me when random good things happen to me. Frankly, after last fall and winter, I think I may have been overdue for some good Karma. This week I am on a good Karma roll.

Monday I used Little Nellie, my folding travel bike, to take Mrs. Rootchopper’s car to the dealer for an inspection. As it turned out, the dealer did a warranty repair on the airbags while the car was there, saving me a future trip.

On the way to pick up the car, it rained while the sun was out. Sometimes rain is cold and makes you miserable, but this rain was warm and felt wonderful on a hot day. The sunlight shining on the rain drops made it look like I was riding through tinsel.

Yesterday, during a meeting at work, Ryan messaged me with an invite to go to the evening Nats game. (Ryan was given two tickets as a thank you for donating blood at Nats Park back in May. Good on you, Ryan.) I rode Big Nellie, my long wheelbase recumbent, to the park from my office in Rosslyn. I was thinking about riding down to Hains Point to kill some time and keep me from arriving early. On Ohio Drive near the Jefferson Memorial, I hit a small pothole. All of a sudden my rear shifter stopped working. I got off the bike and saw that my shifter cable had broken at the derailer. Sad face.

I tried to fix it, but the end of the cable was all frayed and nasty. I decided to skip Hains Point. I considered riding to one of the bike shops on Capitol Hill, but rejected the idea, afraid it would take too much time and make both me and Ryan late for the game. So I rode directly to the ballpark. I had three gears so I was confident that I could get home. It wouldn’t be much fun though.

At the ballpark I tweeted that my cable had broken. Lo and behold the folks at CityBikes on Capitol Hill saw my tweet and offered to bring me a cable and install it after the game. Are you kidding me? How nice is that? I told them that the cable was a tandem cable (Big Nellie is long) and they went searching for one. And found it. Are you kidding me? Nice.

Having arrived early, I talk a bit to Delonte and Raymond, the super friendly bike valet guys, then hung out on the sidewalk near the entrance to the valet to look for Ryan. Who should come swooping in but Katie Lee on Arrow, her Surly CrossCheck. I know she goes to a lot of Nats games but I figured she’d skip this one having probably gone to the previous night’s game pitched by Jordan Zimmermann, her fave. We had a chance to say hello and I met her friend Eric.

Ryan showed up soon after and we went into the park. His seats were in centerfield directly under the giant scoreboard TV. Looking up at the replays was surreal. Baseball players are 20 feet high!

There were not many replays worth watching. The Nats were 2-hit by Reds’ ace Johnny Cueto, who did his best imitation of El Tiante in his prime. The Nats looked like the ’62 Mets.

During the game Katie Bolton tweeted that she was in the stands directly below Katie Lee. I could spot the L but not the B. #bikedc Katies are remarkably numerous.

After the game, Saul Leiken from CityBikes met me at the bike valet and installed the cable. Now I had all the gears necessary to ride home in the dark. Thanks Saul.

The ride home was a bit sketchy since my red blinky light had two dead batteries in it. I was paranoid riding among the cars. I got to the Mount Vernon Trail and only had to worry about being rear ended by a ninja bike rider on speed. Fortunately, Tony, who happened also to be at the game, showed up and escorted me to the far end of National Airport. What a great bonus to have a chat with him.

The rest of the ride was smooth sailing. Just me, the night breeze, and a million fireflies.

I feel my Karma bank might be empty.

The God of Mondays

After yesterday’s century ride, I had a very short commute today. I drove Mrs. Rootchopper’s car to a dealer in Arlington to get an emissions inspection done on it. Car traffic was extraordinarily light. If every day was like this, I might actually drive my car to work.

Not really.

The dealer is three miles from work on the Custis Trail. I pulled Little Nellie from the trunk of the car and reached to put on my cycling gloves. I had two right handed gloves. The god of Mondays was messing with my head.

The ride to work is easy because it is mostly downhill.The ride back to the dealer was an entirely different matter. After slogging up the hill from Rosslyn, I was about halfway there, the sun was shining, and it was pouring rain. Sheets of water.

Ah, summer in DC. Rain just happens. We don’t need no stinking clouds.

It was also quite hot so the rain felt great. (This is what bicyclists say when they know they look stupid riding in a deluge.)

Five minutes later the rain stopped.

There still were no clouds.

I blame the god of Mondays.

The Long Weekend Goes Long

My plan was to do a long solo hike in Shenandoah National Park on Friday. Mission accomplished. Saturday was devoted to baseball and fireworks. We got both in the game. The Nationals went up 3-0 without making an out in the bottom of the first inning. The first pitch of the game was hit for a home run. The second just missed and ended up being a double. A few pitches later another home run. Yikes.

The game ended up being a 9-3 win for the good guys but Strasburg, the starting pitcher, got hurt in the process. There is a rumor in town that the Nationals are going to replace the curly W on their caps with a red cross.

Perhaps the best part about the game is the fact that the morning’s rain stopped earlier enough so that the start was delayed by only 15 minutes. The downside was that I didn’t get to hang out with Normie “Woodrow” McCloud. I’ll see her later in the week.

Later in the day we drove to a friends house for a cookout and fireworks. The skies opened up and it rained impressively. The water in the underpass of the Memorial Bridge was up to the center of the wheels of the cars. Rain in DC this summer has been very entertaining.

Today I woke up and procrastinated. I decided to salvage the day by riding Big Nellie to Bikes at Vienna to buy some gloves and tires. It’s about a 23 mile ride from my house. After shopping I thought, why not just ride out the W&OD trail for a while.

So I did,

I ended up in Leesburg and wondered whether the rains had closed Whites Ferry, a cable operated ferry across the Potomac River. To quote a favorite children’s book, “There was just one thing to do.”

I rode to White’s Ferry and managed to sneak on the back of a trip. The river was very high and muddy. An osprey passed overhead with fish in its talons. A great blue heron seussed by at about 15 feet. As we cabled across, I discussed the condition of the C&O canal with a Marine triathlete. She said she had ridden it a few days ago and it was a muddy mess. I decided to stay off the towpath. Good thing too, I could see huge puddles of muddy water as I passed.

The road to Poolesville was hilly but surprisingly devoid of traffic. I was expecting a pulse of cars from the next ferry crossing. It never came. This was a little disconcerting.

After a stop for ice cream and liquids in Poolesville I turned for home. My legs were quite tired having yet to adapt to riding my recumbent. River Road is a roller coaster of long downhills – always a blast on my recumbent – and long uphills – not so much.

The breeze from riding maskes the heat of the sun. I stopped a few times en route to get my bearings. It was a lot hotter than I thought.

There was just one thing to do.

Pedal, pedal.

I mentally broke down the rest of the ride. It’s five miles to this intersection. Three to this landmark. Four to that hill.

As I rode through DC, I endured tourists. I always remind myself that I want to be treated well when I visit a town I am unfamiliar with so I supressed the urge to spew unkind words.

I plugged along and soon reached my neighborhood with 99.5 miles on the odometer. There was just one thing to do: I rode around the block until I saw 100.

When I dismounted, I felt a sense of invigoration. Actually, that’s a lie. I was tired. I was hot. I was done. Put a fork in me.

Tomorrow is car mechanic day. I will ride only about 6 1/2 miles.

A Monday goes short.

A Devil of a Hike

I had the day off so I woke up at 5:30 and was out the door in less than an hour. I drove to Shenandoah National Park on highways, super and not so super, and byways, finally driving about three miles on an unpaved road. My directions weren’t very good (thanks Google maps) but a man in a floppy hat walking a dog set me straight. You drive to the end of the road. And park. Alone. Yesss!

There were no prominent signs just a small wooden sign for Little Devil Stairs trail. Good enough. Off I went. Up. Not a steep slope but one that provided a good warm up. The path was relatively smooth too. I could hear a stream to my right. Just me, the path, the sound of a gurgling stream and a bird or two discussing the news.

About a half mile into my trek, the trail steepened and got rocky. And crossed the stream. Back and forth. Slippery rocks that made me feel old. Every so often a waterfall. I’d stop and listen.

Up some more. Steeper. This is getting hard, I thought. Huffing and puffing. Wishing I had brought some albuterol. I came to another creek crossing. It was beatiful but the only way across was a giant fallen tree covered with moss. Very, very carefully I got up on the tree, found an advantageous large rock in the stream and made my crossing without a splash.

Up. Up. Sometimes the trail builders had put in rock stairs. Thanks. Up.

Finally, the trail turned from the stream. I would miss the sound of water but the trail became smooter and less steep. Up some more. As I climbed more and more sunlight hit the trail. Finally I came to Fourway. A guidepost in the middle of a crossing. As I munched some mixed nuts, I made my decision: go the long way. The Pole Ridge Link trail.

It was an excellent choice but not perfect. The trail was now smooth, almost rock free. It gradually decended the far side of the mountain I had just worked so hard to climb. The decent was across the face of the mountain. A couple hundred yards in I saw fresh scat in the center of the trail. Uh oh. Paranoia really does striked deep.

My calm was now rattled. Move along. Look for paw prints. All I saw for about a mile were the occasional hiking boot print pointed in my directio 18764624234_2267e24474_z n. Until I saw a paw print. Eek. Apparently a one-legged bear as I could find no other prints. It looked fresh too.

Move along. Nothing more to see here.

Every sound made my head swivel.

After about ten minutes of this, I calmed back down and kept on keeping on. The Pole Bridge Link trail gave way to the Piney Branch Trail. I kept angling down. The trail followed a stream down the side of the mountain. I passed a camp site that looked like heaven.

After a mile or so I crossed the stream. The rocks were slippery but I managed. More smooth hiking gave way to another stream crossing. One thing I like about hiking is that every so often you are presented with a puzzle. Where did the trail go? How do I cross this stream without killing myself? This was one of the latter. I could not find a sure-fire way to get across without getting wet. I gave it my best shot and then splash, my left foot went all the way in. The water was surprisingly warm. And the creek bottom was, thankfully, firm.

The Piney Branch gave way to the Hull School trail. The name of this trail and the occasional rock wall in the woods hint at the days when people lived in these mountains. They were remote in those days, before the Depression. It must have been hard living here.

The Hull School Trail was smooth and recently weed-whacked. It went straight up. For 0.7 miles. For ever. It topped out at a cool old cemetery. I went through the gate with the name Bolen on it. The tombstones told the story of hardship. People here died young. Some children didn’t have much of a chance. Seeing the names of the children was moving. The early 1900s were tough times. 19361028736_a39f5e2589_z

The rest of the hike followed an unpaved fire road back to the car. It was a pleasant downhill track curving through the dense forest. The constant trudging was wearing out my legs though. I decided to see if jogging would ease the discomfort. Sure thing. I jogged a few yards and my legs felt relief. I was tempted to let ‘er rip and just run the last half mile but I knew I’d pay a price tomorrow if I did.

Tomorrow is baseball. Maybe some rain too. After the game, I hope to hang out with my friend Normie “Woodrow” McCloud (not her real name) and her BFF from college. Then it’s dinner and fireworks with friends in the burbs.

Some more pix of my excursion are over on my Flickr page.

The Shortness of a Long Weekend

Three days. No office. No meetings. No work related responsibilities.

What to do?

Saturday is booked with a baseball game with my daughter. I am a little anxious about dealing with the people streaming into the city for the Fourth of July festivities. The ball game starts at 11 so I think I will avoid most of the madness. I am putting my faith in Metro because driving into town would mean dealing with road closures, parking, and clueless tourists from Scranton who think it is their God given right to drive into DC without a clue of how to get anywhere. Normally, I’d ride to the game but, despite doing my damnedest to set a good example, she wants nothing to do with riding a bike. After the game we’ll do some socializing and then escape to the suburbs, perhaps to watch the fireworks from an undisclosed location where the D meets the M meets the V.

That takes care of Saturday. What about Friday and Monday?

Friday will be my alone time. I am driving out to Shenandoah National Park and hiking for hours and hours. I will think thoughts or, perhaps, I will think none at all. I might find answers. I might find questions. I hope to find calm.

Sunday looks like the kind of day made for a long, slow bike ride. Somewhere far. Maybe something as simple as the White’s Ferry loop. Maybe I’ll find answers to Friday’s questions. If I do, I’m pretty sure that I’ll have more questions lined up.

Life is like a Spanish sentence. Question mark at the start. Question mark at the end. How do Hispanistos get anywhere in life? Good thing I’m Irish.

It’s going to be a long weekend, I fear.

June by the Numbers

I dialed the bike riding back a bit in June, having ridden a bike tour in May. For the month I logged 672.5 miles.As usual most of my miles came from riding to and from work. I commuted by bike 17 times out of 21 work days. The other four were telecommute days. My commuting hoss of choice was Little Nellie (10 times) followed by The Mule (5 times) and 2 on Big Nellie. My longest ride was only 44 miles on a meander in the city on a weekend. My only ride outside of town was a 38 miler last Sunday with Science Mom. Little Nellie made it to 15,000 somewhere near Sugarloaf Mountain in Maryland

I did manage to get back into hiking. To get warmed up, I did a solo ten miler in Rock Creek Park. I followed that up with a hilly solo 6 1/2 mile hike in Ashby Hollow on the Appalachian Trail was a challenge. My hike up and down White Oak Canyon with Ultrarunnergirl was my first foray in the Shenandoah National Park. It trashed my legs but the view at Hawksbill was worth it.

For the year to date, I’ve ridden 3,791 miles. Eighty three commutes account for 2,533.5 of those miles. I’ve been wearing out The Mule. I’ve ridden it 2,304.5 miles including 50 bike commutes. Pretty good for a bike I bought on sale in 1991.

The second half of the year will probably not have as many biking miles. I plan on being out of the country for two or three weeks in September. I won’t be taking a bike with me but there is a possibility that I can get a ride in on two continents. (With a European vacation in the works for springtime I might get a third continent on wheels next year.) Depending on scheduling, there’s even a small chance that I may add an eighth 50 States Ride this year. (What can I say, I’m addicted.)