El Errando Grande Is Faked Out

Warm air is here. It’s April!!! Well, actually,no. Never mind.

As you can see, I got all excited about the warmish air forecasted for today. I didn’t bother with overboots and I used a vest and Smartwool arm warmers instead of my jacket. I was a tad underdressed, but I didn’t care.

Big Nellie didn’t either although she managed to delay our departure with a broken o-ring. Big Nellie has delusions that she’s a space shuttle. The o-ring in this case actually attaches the bike computer to the handlebar so it’s not a critical item. One just doesn’t want to have a droopy computer. It just isn’t done. Fortunately, I thought ahead and bought a spare that was underneath the dollar bill in my repair kit. (The dollar bill is for use as a tire boot not as a medium of exchange.)

Off I rode, a bit chilled but psyched about the day. On Union Street in Old Town Alexandria I passed Nancy Duley who was waving her arms like a deranged person. Hi, Nancy.

The Mount Vernon Trail was rather busy this day. Lots of other people decided to go ape and ride to work. One runner was boogying down the path in shorts. Nice legs.

At the beaver dam, a National Park Service Beaver Disrupter was hard at work knocking down the dam. The pond behind it was starting to spill over on the playing fields and the MVT.

The rest of the ride in was splendid. Nobody ran me over in Rosslyn which is always nice.

The ride home was light, as opposed to dark, not heavy. My ride home is always heavy. He ain’t heavy, he’s my panniers.

At the beaver dam, the NPSBD had achieved his goal; the pond had mostly drained. When the water in a pond recedes it leaves behind what scientists call muck. Muck smells like rotting plants. For once, I was happy it was not warm out. I can’t imagine how bad it would have smelled on a 90 degree day.

I reluctantly turned on my headlight shortly the muck. We’re only a few weeks away from ditching the lights for good. Yay!

Today was my 25th bike commute of the year. And my fifth errand. I rode 29.5 miles. I observed things with my eyes and nose. Vive El Errrando Grande!!!

Early to bed, Early to RIse,.., Ben Franklin Was an Idiot

I woke up at 4:45 a.m. so that I good drive my daughter to meet a bus that would whisk her away to the Big Apple. Her school chorus is spending the week singing all over the city. Good luck with that. The drop off was at her school in Woodley Park in DC. So instead of driving all the way back to Mount Vernon I went to the office. I arrived at work at 6 a.m.

Suffice it to say, I was a zombie by lunch time. I came home after semi-productive day – with the emphasis on semi. Tomorrow I will be back in the saddle for bike commute number 25 of 2013.

The Errant Errandonneur

Since I dropped out of the Errandonneur Challenge the day it started I was tempted to reverse course. That’s mostly because nearly all my biking in the in winter fits into the “challenge”. The challenge to me is keeping track of all the details. Take today for instance.

I intended to go to the bike store to get Little Nellie rear shifter cable fixed. I had messed it up a few days ago when I unfolded the bike and snagged the cable on the left crank arm. When I went to pedal, the bike crank arm wouldn’t turn. So I pressed on it with my foot thinking this would free it up. Bad idea. Long story short, after I figured out what was going on I could no longer shift into my highest gears.

On the way to the bike shop I stopped at the pharmacy thinking that if I took pictures of Little Nellie in front of the store I might rehabilitate my two bike trips to the pharmacy and resuscitate my errandonnering credits. Ah, but the rules clearly state that the pix must be taken during the errand. The Gypsybug is a tricky one.

On to the bike shop I rode. Before I started out, I should note, I adjusted my Brooks saddle by tiliting it up ever so slightly (one click’s worth on the saddle adjustment mechanism) because I have been sliding off the front of the saddle. Just this tiny adjustment made for a much better and more efficient ride. I arrived at the Belle Haven Spokes Etc. store and took a couple pictures for good measure. I rarely buy anything at this shop, but I make lots of use of their service department. For little things, they will often make repairs while you wait.

Colin, the bespectacled mechanic, examined Little Nellie. I had messed up a ferule (a little metal thing that connects the cable housing to the cable guide brazed on to the chain stay). He replaced that and then decided to check out the cable. It was fraying at the shifter. He replaced the cable and got the index shifting working perfectly. Nicely done, Colin.

On to Old Town Alexandria I rode to have lunch. I stopped at Eamonn’s, a fish and chips place, named after my son. (Not true, but the owner and I both have sons named Eamonn.) I always have chips with cod and tartar sauce. I don’t undestand why people put malt vinegar on their fish and chips. The stuff tastes disgusting.

I headed home . On the way I stopped to check out a photographer using a camera on a tripod. The camera had a lens slightly smaller than the Hubble telescope. He was taking pictures of a rather large osprey who was no more than 30 yards away in a tree on the rivers edge. I’ll bet he gets some amazing pictures.

Since it was around 50 degrees out, it was warm enough to do some work on my recumbent. Big Nellie has a long chain. In the winter time it’s too cold to do proper chain maintenance so I often re-lube my chain without cleaning off the old dirty lube first. Basically, the chain and the pulleys that it runs through were all gunked up with a wax/dirt mixture. It took me 20 minutes to get the thing clean and I probably could have spent another ten on it. Close enough. Once I put fresh wax on it, it was noticably quieter.

So, here’s the weekend recap: for the last 20.5 miles of riding, I’ve already done 4 of 12 the Errandonnee rides. I’ve done one each in the “Breakfast and Lunch”, “Bike Shop”, and “Personal Care and Health” categories with a fourth ride (to pick up my receipt at the drug store, falling into the “Any Other Store” category. Seeing as how I will knock the “Work” category with my next couple of commutes. I would be halfway done by Tuesday. I am an erranaholic! Or maybe just an errant errandonneur.

I Just Wasn’t Made for Paperwork

The Rootchopper Institute’s favorite randonista, @gypsybug, has started another biking contest. Last winter, she hosted the Utilitaire Challenge, which involved running errands by bike. Then this fall she hosted the Coffeeneuring Challenge which entailed visits to coffee shops. This winter’s biking extravaganza is the Errandonee Challenge, which is similar to the Utilitaire.

During the Utilitaire, I went out on a day when the winds were howling to run some errands. I put my head down and plowed into the back of a parked car. (For those of you who think this sort of thing is lame beyond compare, consider this. Dabis Phinney, one of the great American bicycle racers of the 1990s, once rammed the back of a car during the Tour de France. He launched himself face first through the car’s rear window. I, dear readers, managed only to fall ignominiously to the pavement.) @gypsybug was kind enough to award me an honorable mention for my efforts. I managed to complete the Coffeeneuring Challenge without injuring myself or my bike, but I don’t think my central nervous system will ever recover from all that caffiene.

Against my better judgment, I decided to give the Errandonee thing a go. I rode Little Nellie in blustery winds to the local pharmacy. This 2 1/2 mile trip should have taken me all of 20 minutes except for the diabetic man in the line in front of me who wanted his medicine but didn’t want to pay for it. Sir, bitching and moaning about the U.S. medical system is in aisle 2. Please move aside.

After getting home and taking off my layers of clothing, I looked in the bag from the pharmacy. No receipt. In order to be reimbursed by the persnickety folks who run the flexible spending account program at work, I needed a receipt. So I put the clothing back on and headed back to the drug store where, thankfully the receipt was found and the diabetic guy wasn’t. I rode home and prepared to file this blog.

I checked the Errandonee rules and learned that trips only count if you document them with a photo. Argh!!

So, right there I made the executive decision to bail on the contest. Paperwork and cycling just don’t go together for me.

I then decided to do some taxes and some college financial aid forms.

Do I know how to party or what?

It Was 20 Years Ago Today

This morning I was so absorbed in the TV coverage of a huge blizzard headed for New England that I was late getting out the door. No Friday Coffee Club for me. The ride in was miserable. One of the DC TV weathermen mentioned that his least favorite kind of weather is cold rain. Amen, brother.

The Blizzard of 2013 (which the Weather Channel insists on calling Nemo) was forecasted to bury Boston in what could be its biggest storm evah. Get outta heah,I say!!! This week is the 35th anniversary of the Blizzard of 1978. I was there and it was pretty damned amazing. Most people don’t talk about it but just a week or two before there was a massive snowstorm in Boston. This left all kinds of snow that had been plowed aside clogging parking spaces and widewalks. When the blizzard hit, there was no place to put the snow. Oops. I lived on the corner of a side street, Chiswick Road, and a major road, Chestnut Hill Avenue, that was a snow emergency route. A humongous front end loader came down Chestnut Hill. It was scooping up snow and dumping it into dump trucks. Across from my window a car was double parked and covered with a fiit or two of snow. The front end loaded got its scoop underneath the car and with a prehistoric grunt lifted it up and dropped in on the car at the curb. My roommates and I couldn’t believe our eyes.

A month or so later when the snow finally started to melt. I was walking in the street on Chiswick because the sidewalks were glaciers. Every car that had parked on the street had huge indents in the side from where the snow plows had smashed snow into them. Body shops must have been working overtime for weeks.

The first storm was not so bad. My girlfriend and I worked at a company in Allston. She used to commute from the South Shore by bus, light rail and trolley. It normally took her two hours. At 9 a:30 a.m. I called her home to see if she had turned around. No dice. At about 10 a.m. my co-workers and I were told to leave work. So we stalled by helping our car-driving co-workers get their cars out of the snow. Then, reluctantly, we headed out. We walked down the hill toward the trolley line. A trolley car stopped, then pulled away. We could see something moving toward us. There was my girlfriend who had spent five or six hours on the road. We were snowed in together for several days. Good times.

She wised up for the blizzard and stayed home leaving me alone and bored senseless. Bummer. Her father, though, went to the Beanpot hockey tournament at Boston Garden. It was impossible for him to get home so he took a room at the Sheraton Hotel near the Prudential Center. The power went out so he, a man with heart problems, had to climb the stairs something like ten flights to get to his room. After several days of being in the same clothes, he made his way to his office building a few blocks away. He, a dignified executive, broke into the valet shop and made off with some fresh underwear. (He left a note and probably paid for the damage.) Desperate times call for desperate measures.

So as I watch the coverage on the news tonight, I am taken back to my days in Boston. I don’t miss the winters one bit.

And this whole nostalgia thing got me to thinking. 20 years ago this month I saw an add for a sale on a “commuting bike” at the Spokes Etc. store on Quaker Lane in Alexandria. I needed a bike that was more robust than my Trek 1200 which was not designed to carry a load. The bike was a Specialized Sequoia, priced at something like $600. It had fenders, a rack, and generator light system and 24 gears! Today, I call that bike The Mule. It’s odometer reads 32,400 miles. If I put studded tires on it, it might even get me through a blizzard.

Okay, that’s crazy talk. Good bike though.

Audio Ninja

A few months ago I coined the term “veloworker” to describe someone who tells their boss they’re telecommuting then goes out for a bike ride.

Yesterday I started a new feature of this blog. I call it Danger of the Day.

Today my neologistic skills meet Danger of the Day. I give you the audio ninja.

As every winter bike commuter knows, a ninja is a person who wears dark clothing on an unlit trail at night. Ninjas wear no lights and eschew reflective material. When backlit by a car’s headlights, ninjas are invisible. So far this winter I have had about 20 ninja near misses. Early in the winter I saw a bike commuter and a ninja disentangling themselves after the cyclist ran the ninja over south of National Airport on the Mount Vernon Trail.

Today during broad daylight I encountered a runner on the trail as I approached the base of the switchback bridge to Rosslyn. She was clad in black cycling clothes. Protruding from the bottom of her colorful woolen winter hat, I could see white earbuds. The earbuds were wired to an iPod or smartphone which she held in one of her gloved hands. She was running on the center line of the trail. As Big Nellie and I came upon her from behind, I rang my bell. She stayed in the center of the trail. I slowed and rang the bell again. Without looking she moved to the left directly in front of me. I started to pass her on the right and she moved back to the right in front of me, again without looking. I think that maybe she saw that bikes were coming down the bridge toward her on the left side of the trail. By this point, I was so close to her I nearly clipped her heels with my front wheel. I was tempted to use my fairing to deflect her into the weeds. Unfortunately, like my bicycle death ray, this sort of thing only really works in my imagination. Instead, I yelled “Give me a break!!!” or words to that effect.

So today’s Danger of the Day is the audio ninja: a trail user so zoned out on her music that she has no situational awareness whatsoever.

The Wild Kingdom

Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Bike Commute

When I was a kid, I used to love watching Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom. It was a nature show sponsored by an insurance company. The host was Marlin Perkins. I think he got the gig over Halibut Jones and Billy “Blowfish” Campito. Anyway, he was a skinny old guy with white hair and a white mustache.

In its early years Marlin would be out in the field with a guy named Jim Fowler. In later years Marlin was usually filmed in an office. He’d narrate some escapade involving a lethal wild animal that would sooner or later grab Jim by the throat and drag him underwater. Then, the camera would cut back to Marlin who would say something like, “Jim’s in trouble, but you don’t have to be because you can buy Mutual of Omaha life insurance.” Then a commercial would start.

When we came back from the commercial, Jim would extricate himself from harm. After a few years, Jim figured out that Marlin was never in harm’s way. Jim bailed on the show and a beefy Aussie named Stan Brock showed up. Poor Stan. What a dope.

Today’s ride to work was filled with wild creatures (and I am not talking about Bob Cannon or Nancy Duley, although a case could be made for them, I suppose). There was a big bald eagle in the tree above the Belle Haven nest. Bright sunlight was reflecting off its face and tail and made for an impressive pose.

In Jones Point Park, near the recently repaired wooden bridge on the trail, I spied a large fox trotting across the trail into the woods. The local fox population boomed in the last couple of years but seems to be in decline recently.

As I passed National Airport I spotted a hawk, probably an osprey, in a tree next to the trail. He was looking away from the river. Dude, turn around. The fish are that-a-way.

My final wildlife sighting came just north of the Memorial Bridge. The near side of the river was filled with Canada geese. I turned to look at them and saw a streak just barely above the water. It was a great blue heron all stretched out and flying impossibly low and fast. Its neck had a kink in it (which is normal), its feet and legs were stretched out behind it’s torso, and the sun was highlighting its coloring. For such an ungainly looking bird, this heron was putting on an impressive display of flying skills.

On the ride home I spotted a vulture flying in circles over the area south of the 14^th Street Bridge. It must have been looking for dead ninjas.

I am sure I was annoying to other trail riders because in each of these instances, I veered all over the trail as I was taking in the show. My apologies.

My new blog feature is my Danger of the Day Award. Today’s award goes to the driver of the sedan in Old Town that passed me on North Union Street within inches of my left arm. After the car passed, I stuck my left arm out and waved it up and down to indicate that I need some space. I could see the driver as he drove away. He was gesticulating as if he were carrying on a conversation with someone. An Alexandria Police Cruiser pulled in behind the car and, when the car went to parallel park, slowed. The officer looked in the car to see if the driver was up to something. By this point, the driver was off his phone or otherwise behaving himself. The cruiser continued without stopping.

Our runner up of the day is awarded to the Rosslyn driver who started to turn onto the I-66 ramp off of North Lynn Street. The driver was looking down at something in the middle of the front seat, oblivious to the fact that I was in the crosswalk in front of her. Lucky for me she looked up in time and braked.

That’s why I choose Mutual of Omaha for all my life insurance.

Back to you, Marlin,

Like Savoir Faire, #bikedc Is Everywhere

During my bike commutes, I often see my regulars. These include Hoppy Guy, Three-step Runner, Fitness Woman, Grafixnerd Clone, and French Braid Cyclist. I don’t know any of them. In fact, with the exception of Hoppy Guy, we rarely acknowledge each other.

Once you start becoming known in the #bikedc community, this sort of annonymity goes out the window. In the last two days I have seen Bob (@Rcannon100) twice. Last night (as I forgot to mention in my blog post) I ran into Chris (@bilsko). This morning I saw Nancy (@nduley) who has become one of my regulars.

For many years Mrs. Rootchopper and I would wonder how we knew so many people in the DC area and never ran into them. When I am on the bike, that’s no longer the case. I’m lousy with names but there are now so many people in the #bikedc twitterverse that I can’t keep track of people’s actual names.

Then there is the strange case of Alex and Bec. There I was riding alone in the Tour du Port in Baltimore, when I hear a woman say, “Are you from DC?” Alex and Bec had spotted my pin from @SharrowsDC, a #bikedc blogger of ill repute.

I often get spotted by other cyclists when I am on my Bike Friday or my recumbent. Riding BOUDs (Bikes of Unusual Design) makes me stick out. Another give away may be my biking clothing which is to say my non-biking clothing. I wear a helmet and pretty much everything else I wear above my feet is whatever clothing works for the weather. My Marmot Precip jacket and pants are for hiking. My holey sweater was once a regular wool sweater. Some of my base layers are cheapo shirts from some random department store. For gloves I often wear mittens. It’s Hobo Chic.

Ironically, one of the reasons I started cycling as an adult was the fact that it was so hard to get a group of people together to play a team sport like basketball or softball. Now, it’s pretty easy to get a bunch of people together for a ride. I notified a bunch of #bikedc people about the Vasa ride in March. Nearly all of them signed up. It’s going to be crowded out there!

I wrote all the above during the day. I rode home. I saw no one I knew. Go figure.

Puppy Bowl Hangover

The fam and I went to Rocky and Chelli’s house in North Arlington to watch the Puppy Bowl last night. Some fool put on a football game that lasted until 11. We ate too much and drank some ourselves some beers. Still crazy after all these years. Wait, no. Oh, nevermind. The point is we didn’t get home until 11:30.

After 5 1/2 hours of sleep I was awake. I decided to take my daughter’s car in for service since it had a flat-ish front tire. So I put Little Nellie in the trunk and drove to the mechanic. I pulled Little Nellie out of the trunk and the pedals wouldn’t turn. I should know better but I pushed on the pedals a couple of times in the hopes of freeing things up. No such luck. I looked down and saw the rear shifter cable looped over the left crank arm.

I unlooped the cable but now the cable was all stretched. I played with it and my 2-cent mechanical skills allowed me a full 10 gears to ride to work with. That ought to be enough, thought I, and off I went. I was a little underdressed for the 28 degree weather but I warmed up soon enough. The ride in was pretty uneventful. I passed Bob Cannon (@rcannon100) on the MVT as he was heading south and I was heading north. He didn’t notice me. I am so inconspicuos on my clown bike.

I survived the Rosslyn Circle of Doom and an entire d

ay smashing words and numbers into littler words and numbers. Just before 5 I headed home. It was LIGHT OUT!!!!! I didn’t bother to turn my headlight on until I was in Old Town. On the way there I stopped to check out the cut in the beaver dam north of Slaters Lane. The National Park Service has a crack Beaver Dam Demolition Team. They come and breach the dam whenever it gets high enough to cause flooding near the trail and the adjacent playing fields. Beaver Dam Demolition is a full time job. The NPS-BDDT is out there working every week. You can see the beavers sitting off to the side flipping them the beaver bird.

I didn’t have to pick up the car. Mrs. Rootchopper picked up our daughter and they did it for me. The mechanic couldn’t find a leak but strangely he charged us for plugging it. Which I suppose is fair because the last time he fixed an actual leak, he fixed it for free. I think I may have to find a mechanic located outside of the Twilight Zone.

In the last half mile before home, snowflakes began to swirl around me. The new name for these don’t-amount-to-anything snows we are having is “conversational snow”. If this one gets chatty, I may have to drive tomorrow.

Refund? REFUND? REFUND!!!?

The last couple of days have been all discombobulated. Yesterday, I drove to work, thinking that my daughter’s play (actually one of seven short plays) would start at 7. I found out at 5 that the play doesn’t start until eight. I could have ridden in afterall. As it turns out it was mighty cold and windy so I can’t say that I was all that upset.

After work, I drove to Cactus Cantina up in Grover Park. I experimented with a new route and found out that I could get over to Rock Creek Park easily, thereby avoiding the traffic mess in Georgetown. It only took me 15 months to find this new route which seems obvious. (Key Bridge to Whitehurst Freeway to 27th Street to Virginia Avenue to RCP. Pretty easy.) Anyway, I had a fine repast at the restaurant with the Mrs. My meal is still making me feel stuffed 22 hours later. The two margueritas went down smoothly, I might add.

Mrs. Rootchopper and I drove separate cars to the school. I had arrived at the theater late because of a telephone call that took 25 minutes. (Chatty sister, I have.) The school theater has a wide aisle after the fourth row of seats. I walked back and forth across the aisle looking for my wife to no avail. I went outside and asked a student usher if she had seen her and she went in with me and pointed her out. I walked across the same wide aisle and sat down next to her. She leaned over and said, “You didn’t say ‘hi’ to Hillary?” and pointed to a seat to my right in the row in front of me. There, seated in the ;2row on the wide aisle was the just-resigned Secretary of State/Senator from NY/FLOUS. Bloody hell. How’d I miss her? (Her nephew was in one of the plays.)

The plays were mostly pretty entertaining. Leaving was a bit of a challenge since there was a clot of people around Hillary including a tall, expressionless white man in a dark cloth coat. Dude, just wear a sign that says “Secret Service” in the future. Driving down Cathedral Avenue traffic came to a stop as a couple of imposing looking black cars were parked illegally on the street in front of the school. Dudes, you stick out like a linebacker at a tea party. Why don’t they change the name to the Obvious Service?

As I mentioned to a Twitter friend, seeing Hillary at the play is way better than buying a TV with Dick Gephardt. (True story.) It still doesn’t top the time I was showing my sister around the mall.. She had never been to DC. Suddenly, a Secret Service helicopter started swooping low over Constitution Avenue near the Vietnam Veterans’ Memorial. We ran to the street. A motorcade came past. A long black limo with an illuminated interior was in the middle. There, in the back seat, were Ron and Nancy. We were alone on the edge of the street waving like idiots. The president turned toward us, pointed, waved and smiled. I am sure my sister thinks this sort of thing happens every day.

This morning I took the Milennium Falcon for an oil change. The place was pretty empty for a Saturday; I think 16 degrees makes people disinclined to get up on a Saturday and go outside. I walked the mile and a half home. The mechanic seemed to take a long time so I called him 90 minutes after he said the car would be ready. He told me he left a message 2 hours ago. It turns out that my old employer hasn’t turned off my voice mail despite the fact that I left 16 months ago. And my name and number are still being used in materials for a year-round survey. I spent 15 minutes going through 37 calls on my old voice mails, none of them of any importance.

After fetching the car, I did some errands. The pharmacist laughed when he saw me. He turned to the other pharmacist and said he didn’t recognize me without my helmet. The other day, the head of our neighborhood association recognized me as the guy who rides that funny-looking bike. (I had to get a clarification, which funny looking bike? He meant Big Nellie.)

I spent the next few hours fighting with Turbo Tax but I finished our tax returns (REFUND? REFUND!?) and my daughter’s as well. My son’s W2 is AWOL which proves that taxes are never without some kind of complication.

A squall line is approaching, Soon snow will be coming down. Looks like Super Bowl Sunday may be another perfect day for car maintenance and taxes.

I miss my bike already.

	jim on The Tank Stays for Now
	Rootchopper on March Madness
	Rootchopper on March Madness
	halffastcyclingclub on March Madness
	Jim on March Madness