Tag: bike commute

The Return of the Ninjas

Ah, the end of daylight savings time. It was so great to ride to work in the daylight with the warm sun and a steady tailwind.  Wait! Let’s start over. It was flippin’ cold out there this morning. The relentless headwind was not so great either. It took me an entire 15 seconds to shake the fog of sleep out of my head. Sheesh.

The Mule was put back in action today thanks to a new seatpost binder bolt from Bicycle Space. Mechanic to the stars Paul was concerned that it might be too short but that’s probably because the bolt I broke and showed him might have been too long. Everything’s relative, in it’s own way, because Ray Stevens said so. Or maybe not.

It was cold on the river. A gaggle of geese was making a racket near Belle Haven Park just to stay warm. A lone cormorant swam silently out into the river looking like a sub at periscope depth. Ducks were quacking their fool heads off in the marsh north of Old Town.  It made me wonder why cormorants don’t get with the program.

I managed to get to work only ten minutes late, which was about the amount of time it took to put on and take off all the damned layers of clothing I wore. I wasn’t particularly aerodynamic but I felt like it when a guy rode by me with his bike jacket flapping in the wind like a flag in a hurricane.

The bike rack at the office was nearly full. I was shocked. I have no idea what happened. Maybe I work in a building with lots of Aussies who think it’s early summer.  Nobody said G’Day to me so maybe I’m wrong.

I left the office just as the sun was setting. Within two blocks I was shoaled. Shoaling is not allowed in Rosslyn (because I said so).  If you get to the circle of death first, I will ride on your cold, lifeless, shoaling, loathsome body.  And then The Mule will kick you in the head for good measure.

The Mount Vernon Trail was much busier in the evening. Nothing says “Lets go for a walk in our dark clothes, honey” like a cold dark night on a narrow trail with headlights backlighting everything. It was like a ninja convention. Adding to the fun, about a quarter of the cyclists coming toward me had no lights. Tonight, I will have nightmares that I am going to end up in a heap with my front wheel lodged up some ninja’s ass like its a bikeshare docking station.

South of Old Town I encountered my first deer of the rut. It was a young deer, perhaps a year or two old. Probably a doe. She stood on the left side of the trail, facing the trail, seemingly preparing to bolt across my path as I approached. I turned on my high beam. She didn’t even flinch. Until I was 15 yards away. Then she bolted. Thankfully, she turned as she did because she ran up the trail in the direction I was coming from. Deer ninjas are creepy.

Tomorrow, I get to ride to the polls. I love standing in line with my helmet on. Makes my neighbors think they are in line with a weirdo. They’d be right.

September by the Numbers

Despite a trip out of town and lots of car-related disruptions, I did a pretty decent amount of riding  in September. For the most part, the weather cooperated. I rode 858 miles for the month. I did four metric centuries: the Southern Maryland Century, the 50 States Ride, the Backroads Century, and a ride to Dulles with the Randos.  With a few other rides on the weekends, my non-commuting riding totaled 309 miles. The other 549 miles came from 19 commutes, 16 on Big Nellie, my Tour Easy recumbent. I haven’t driven my car to work now in about 3 1/2 months.

The Tour Easy did the bulk of the lifting this month, 609 miles. The Mule, my 20-year-old Specialized Sequoia, racked up 213. Little Nellie, my Bike Friday New World Tourist, contributed but 36 miles.

During the 50 States Ride, probably around the time of the monsoon, I crossed the 5,000 mile mark for the year. I now stand at 5,299 miles with 138 bike commutes. 

Today, I was furloughed and didn’t ride to work. I spent the entire day running mostly car-related errands. I hope to get out on the bike tomorrow.

Sunrise and Segway

Shorts and a t-shirt are so two days ago. Yesterday, I took off from home on Big Nellie in complete denial which is to say I wore sandals, a t-shirt, and shorts. Not bike shorts, just regular old, wear-around-the-house shorts. The 55 degree/12 mile per hour breeze on my arms and up my pants was rather…um…invigorating. The 30 mile per hour ride down the Park Terrace hill woke my ass right up. Literally.

Today, I pulled out some arm warmers which cut my morning thrill in half, I suppose. Then came the Park Terrace Hill. Hello, sailor!

Since I left early so that I would be on time for our scintillating annual office strategy and planning meeting, I arrived at Dyke Marsh just in time for a pretty awesome sunrise. So I stopped and took a picture.

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Then it was back to the commute. A nice little tailwind pushed me along. After I passed through Old Town, I spotted a guy in a tan suit with a manbag riding a Segway. It isn’t often that an old Fred like me on a recumbent sees somebody who is considerably dorkier looking. It’s pretty impossible to ride a Seqway in a suit without looking like an escapee from Camp Devo. Of course, young women who give Segway tours to DC tourists look impossibly cool and sexy on them. (He says to cover his ass the next time he runs into Rachel who used to give Segway tours. My motto is: Be kind to women with power tools.)

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The rest of my ride was dork-free (myself excluded).

After a day of strategerific coffee-less meetings, I was back on the bent and headed for home with my second tailwind of the day. Big Nellie is feeling her oats now that she has a new chain and cassette.

Ready to launch to Friday Coffee Club in the morning.

The $800 Drink of Water

Monday dawned with more awesome fall weather, which is great considering we are still in the first week of August. My long ride yesterday resulted in some significant log sawing last night. As a result, I overslept by a good 20 minutes.

Out of the house late I board The Mule for a surprisingly spirited ride to work. I say surprisingly because I had a head wind and lots of hilly miles in my legs from yesterday. I passed the Hoppy Runner and Nancy “One Bag” “Crash Wave” “Bridge Troll” Duley en route.

I called the dentist about the veneer crown I lost yesterday. Not only would he see me today, but he moved my September cleaning appointment up. I left the office at noon for the unusual ride to the west end of Alexandria which might as well put up banners that say, “Welcome to Traffic Hell”.

I headed uphill out of Rosslyn into Arlington. Garbage trucks and city buses made for a less than enjoyable ride so I bailed from Wilson Boulevard and meandered through the side streets. I used to live near Ballston so I am pretty familiar with the streets. I was taken aback by all the new apartments in the Buckingham neighborhood near my old apartment. I hooked up with the Washington and Old Dominion trail and headed east on a slight downhill.

Near Shirlington I left the cozy confines of the W&OD (NOT the WO&D) and headed toward my date with traffic. This being a summer day, the traffic was light and I survived the mayhem long enough to find the Taylor Run Trail which took me within a few blocks of the dentist’s office.

The good news is my teeth are now clean. The bad news is that the old veneer crown cannot be re-used. A new one is going to set me back a cool $800. They offered to put a veneer on another tooth to even out my smile. Big of them, no?

After the appointment I headed for home via the not so magnificent Eisenhower Valley. I arrived home in time to do a little more work and contemplate how a sip of water is going to cost me $800. It’s what you would call a big, big thirst.

Wind, No Wind

Yesterday was a dream of a summer day. Low humidity and a nice breeze made it feel like late September rather than late July. Of course, I worked from home forgoing the bestest damn bike commuting weather of the year.

Fortunately, today was nearly as nice. I rode on Big Nellie into a respectable headwind.  My panniers contents included my work laptop which feels like its made out of lead when it’s in a pannier on my bike. So my pace was rather geriatric. Otherwise, I felt great. I even spotted Nancy “One Bag” “Crash Wave” “Bridge Troll” Duley spinning into Old Town from the north.

It was such a nice ride that I didn’t have the heart to exert myself so I put it on autopilot and did my 12 mile per hour thing. Suddenly, I was at the office. Boo.

During the day, congestion built in my lungs. I have been dealing with this on and off for months. My doctor said it’s allergies so a couple of weeks ago I stopped taking antihistamines to see if it got worse. No difference. Hmmm.

When I left work, my head was stuffy and I felt a little woozy. Big Nellie felt like the front wheel was wobbly. After a couple of miles of riding, my head returned to normal but my chest congestion remained. Riding with this congestion is misery as I found during a ride to Baltimore and back several weeks ago.

It occurred to me what might be causing my problem. About a year ago, a pipe started leaking in the wall in my office. The building maintenance people fixed the leak but I wonder if maybe there is some mold growing in the dry wall. That would explain why I had no symptoms after three days away from the office. I am going to ask the building manager to check it out tomorrow. And I am going to the doctor next week for a referral to an appropriate specialist.

Even my physical problems couldn’t take away from the joy of riding in this weather. 

South of Belle Haven Park I noticed that overgrowth along the side of the trail that had reduced the trail to one usable lane on a couple of curves had been cut back. The National Park Service was alerted to the problem earlier in the day by none other than Nancy Duley. My hats off to you One Bag.

The Mayo Clinic website suggested that non-drowsy antihistamines are likely to be ineffective to a mold allergy, but the old fashioned drowsy kind may work. So I popped a couple of Benedryls a few minutes ago. Let’s see if they make me,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,.zzvvvvvv

Dedicated

The radar looked favorable. If I timed it right, I could ride to work without getting wet. As Bill Cosby’s Noah once said, “RIGHT!”

It started out as a sprinkle. Since traffic was light I took Fort Hunt Road and the US 1 connector to the Mount Vernon Trail at the beltway. What cars there were gave me plenty of room. Drivers must be in a good mood.

Then the rain started. A little at first, then some more, then still more. Like Noah, I wanted to know “What’s a cubit?”

By the time I reached the airport ten miles into this little adventure, I was sopping wet. Animals were lining up in twos to get on Big Nellie. Voompah, voompah, voompah!

I saw Bob Cannon riding toward the 14th Street Bridge. He was not looking real happy. It’s hard to look happy when your beard is a sponge, I suppose.

I pulled into the garage at work and rolled past the big boss. He’s not actually big, he’s just the top dog. He’s not actually a canine…

He walked past me at the bike rack and, pointing to the puddle of water beneath me and my bike, I said, “Now this is dedication!” He replied, “in some countries, this is grounds for institutionalization.”

Since I was riding in clothes still wet from this morning, the ride home into a humid headwind wasn’t unpleasant. A few miles into the ride, I clicked my odometer. During the morning deluge Big Nellie turned 33.

At the beltway, I caught the light to cross Washington Street so I followed the US 1 connector and rode on Fort Hunt Road. I caught a light at Belle View Boulevard so I took a right and rode up brutal Beacon Hill. For months I have been having trouble with congestion in my lungs, but not today. I huffed and puffed all the way up the hill but there was no wheezing or coughing.  I hope my lung problems are finally gone.

Once I reached the top of the hill, the rest of my ride home was a piece of cake. I even added another short hill for good measure.

So what does a dedicated bike commuter do on a four day weekend?

I ain’t building an ark.

These Playoffs Are Going to Be the Death of Me

Having not learned my lesson from yesterday evening’s TV sports marathon, I watched the National-Phillies baseball game (Ian Desmond grand slam!!!) and the Stanley Cup playoff game pitting the Bruins against the Blackhawks. I don’t know why I did this.  I didn’t even make it to the end of the game. I fell sound asleep on the couch. My son woke me up and I went to bed, to awaken hours later with a sore back. Time to ride to work!

Thankfully a tailwind pushed Little Nellie and me in the direction of my office. I passed some regulars along the way including the Three Step Runner, Hardware Store Man, the Trash  Walker and French Braid Kate, her eyes opalescent in the early morning light. Nobody pulled any moronic passes today and I somehow navigated the Rosslyn cycle of death without being hit, although I did manage to nearly take out a fitness walker wearing ear buds.

During the day, I rode Metro to Union Station. A young man on the train had obvious issues. He spoke with an outside voice telling standees to “SIT HERE. SIT OVER THERE.”  Then once he had satisfied himself that everyone was in their proper place, he started asking them questions like “WHERE ARE YOU FROM?” “WHERE IN NEW JERSEY?” As we approached Union Station, a woman wearing ear buds had her back to the door. He stood directly in front of her and started a one-way conversation as she nodded at him with a patient smile. The woman was a saint. Long ago in Boston, there was a man we called the Yankee Doodle Man. He’d ride the MBTA all day whistling “Yankee Doodle Dandy”. When he came to the end of the tune, he’d start talking a blue streak, usually anti-semitic things.  He seemed to  always be on the train I was on too.

I had some time to kill when I came back out of subway. Friday Coffee Clubber Rachel had tweeted that she was at Union Station so I walked around looking for her. She was long gone though. I did see an impressive number of street people panhandling. Between the poverty and the mental problems, I was thoroughly depressed. Bike commuting  insulates me from some of the grim realities of life in the big city.

The ride home was into a strong headwind but the weather was otherwise so nice I didn’t much care. The river was high and full of logs. Big ones. I wouldn’t want to be out on the water tonight.

The trumpet player was back at Gravelly Point park. Bwaaa. BWAAA. Bwaaa. Thanks for the sound track. He’s good but I am holding out for a string section so I can get some Barber of Seville overture action going like in “Breaking Away”.

French Braid Kate came down a slight incline between two guys. Just as in the morning she wore no sunglasses. Somehow her eyes are wide open. Doesn’t that bother her? I wear glasses all the time but if I had the wind in my eyes it would bother the heck out of me.

Spin, spin. Pedal, pedal.

Old Town came and went. I steeled myself for the stench of Belle Haven Park. a hundred yards before the sewery water, I came upon two young moms sitting facing each other on a beach towel in the grass. In front of them, propped up on their butts were two babies, probably about 8 months old. One was bald, the other tow headed.  They were pawing each other like bear cubs and giggling their oversized heads off. I almost stopped just to watch them. They were pure joy.

Instead I rode into the swamp zone. Dang, when will this stench ever go away?!

As I rode along beneath the trees, I took advantage of my upright position on my recumbent and looked up at the underside of the canopy of leaves above me. Green out!  The Mount Vernon Trail rocks as a way to get home!

Tomorrow will be a long day. Coffee Club before work. Nats game after work. Then a late night ride home.

Monday, Naked and Shameless

Big Nellie, having escaped arrest for indecent exposure over the weekend, took me to work naked this morning. She was naked. I was clothed.  Just want to make myself crystal clear about this.

The plunge down Park Terrace Drive was rather breezy. We hit 35 miles per hour. I was wearing loose shorts so let’s just say the feeling was rather festive.

I cruised down the Mount Vernon Trail, spotting yet another snapper turtle next to the trail. I am guessing that it was laying eggs. Either that or it was mooning me. It’s hard to tell with the shell.

If the downhill breeze up my pants didn’t wake me up, the reekage in Belle Haven Park would have. There were large pools of standing water that smelled like a sewer. The mallards didn’t mind though. (Remind me not to order duck the next time I eat at a fancy pants restaurant.)

Past the park, I spotted a chipmunk.on the edge of the trail. I wish he hadn’t skittered away. He was pretty cute.

Three of my regulars were out and about. Nancy (Wave Crash/One Bag) Duley was spinning under the Woodrow Wilson Bridge. She had no bag this morning, probably trying to sneak up on me. Having had stench up my nose and a 35-mile per hour wind up my shorts there was no chance of pulling a fast one on me this morning.

A half mile later near Ford’s Landing, I passed Hardware Store Man on his Serotta.

I could tell I am getting used to the naked Nellie when I hit the two boardwalks near Slaters Lane without slowing. I just trusted the bike and it carved through the turns. Wheee.

Just before Rosslyn, I came upon an incredibly skinny runner. She had to be anorexic. I could see every bone in her legs. Her thighs were no bigger than my forearms. I hope she was heading to an iHop. (Seriously, she looked like death. Very scary.)

I was worried that I might have to ride home in the rain. The last time I did I crashed  I still have a red mark on my right knee to show for it. No worries. The road was dry. I could have done without the headwind though.

South of the Memorial Bridge, a kid about 12 years old was sitting in the grass next to the trail fiddling with his bike. I asked if he needed help and he said, “Yes.” He said he had crashed and his chain was all messed up. I couldn’t see any evidence that he was hurt in any way, but his chain was definitely all screwed up. It had somehow jumped over the crank arm and was dangling on the front derailer cage. The chain stay (the tube connecting the seat tube to the back wheel) had all kinds of scratches in the paint. I fiddled with the chain, shifted the front derailer, gently moved the crank arm and, Voila!, fixed. Of course, if it had been my bike, I’d have broken the chain or the derailer or both. Kid, it’s your lucky day.

Cruising along opposite the Washington Monument, a woman of a certain age rode toward me on a CaBi (bikeshare) bike. She smiled at me and said, “Nice bike.” Recumbents are chick magnets.

Sitting at a picnic table near Gravelly Point, a man was doing what looked like Tai Chi. He had some good mojo going from the waist up.

I dropped into the zone and moseyed along at 13 miles per hour. I was on autopilot until I spotted something moving on the trail south of the still stinky Belle Haven Park. It was a little turtle crossing the trail in the direction of the river. I pulled over to give him an assist. He saw me coming and actually sped up. I could see his finned back feet pushing him along. When I got close, he stopped and ducked into his shell. I backed away and he skittered off the trail on his own power. I think this was a very young snapper. Pretty cool.

South of Tulane Drive the trail is being renovated. Two short wooden Northdown Roadhdown has been bridges will be replaced. The Park Service is building a bypass that will be for walking bikes around the work area. Farther south the trail connects with Northdown Road. Nortstripped of pavement and the cobblestone shoulders have been removed. The work crews are pretty patient with trail users so safe passage is not a problem.

I arrived home sweaty. Cotton t-shirts aren’t the best choice for muggy DC bike commutes. I called the local pharmacy to have them refill a prescription expecting to pick it up tomorrow night. The pharmacist apparently used to work in a pizza parlor because she said “Five minutes” when I asked her when it would be ready. The pharmacists get a kick out of seeing me with my bike helmet so I rode the 2 ½ miles to the drug store and back.A 32-mile naked Monday. I do believe I’ll do it again tomorrow. Nellie is shameless.

Andrea vs. The Mule

Andrea, the first tropical storm of the season, sneaked into DC on little squishy sneakers last night. You might think that this is a bad time to ride a bike to work. You might even be right. You might also know that I am not about to listen to such nonsense. So The Mule and I headed for DC and Friday Coffee Club.

Before we got out of the driveway we were greeted by our first critter of the day, a box turtle next to my son’s car. He (or she, can’t much tell) was looking a little befuddled. I followed the prime turtle directive and left him/her alone and headed out.

The rain was not too heavy. I wore an old Orioles baseball hat that had some paint stains on it. The long bill of the baseball cap, I reasoned, would keep the rain out of my eyes. And it did. The only downside was that it’s hard to see far ahead when riding a conventional bike. I got slapped in the face by two rain-weighted tree limbs on the Mount Vernon Trail. As soon as I cleared one (Whap!) I rode into the next (Whap!).That certainly woke my ass up.

I was pretty much alone all the way to town. A few runners were taking advantage of the respite from hot and muggy conditions to get their ya yas out, but the bike commuters were sitting this one out. Fortunately, a huge great blue heron wasn’t. I saw him flying just above the water, parallel to me over the Potomac River. It always amazes me that the Seussbirds can be so graceful and efficient when on the wing.

I enjoyed the tailwind and noticed that the planes from National Airport were taking off with the wind instead of against it. This is very unusual. One noisy American Airlines plane seemed to get very little lift as it headed out over Gravelly Point.

Friday Coffee Club was once again an all guy thing, until, that is, @Nikki_D showed up. At its peak, I think we had ten people there. Not bad for a rainy day.

I was concerned about the weather for the ride home. The forecasts called for heavy rain, thunder and lightning. Luckily, it was a light persistent rain instead. About a mile into the soggy ride, I was passed by Bob (Don’t Call Me Rachel) Cannon who sat next to me at Coffee Club in the morning. The headwind was as persistent as the rain but the combination actually felt nice. The Mule and I made steady progress. Once again the MVT was nearly empty. Near the Slaters Lane turn off, French Braid Kate came by DC-bound. If the weather was bothering her, I couldn’t tell.

South of Old Town I noticed two trees had fallen over from all the rain. One apparently was diseased; the part that hit the MVT seemed to shatter on impact. The trunk was sheared off and obstructing the right lane of the trail. We rolled by. Here and there pieces of rotten tree limbs were strewn along the trail. It occurred to me that a helmet would have been useful in the event of a limb crashing down on my noggin. (This once happened during a storm in Belle Haven Park. A limb dropped directly in front of my bike. It missed my noggin and the rest of me.)  My noggin spared I rolled home soggy but satisfied that Andrea had lost  and The Mule had won.

Lloyd Bridges, phone home

I knew I should have worn my waterproof jammies. By the time I retrieved my newspaper from the end of the driveway, I was soaked.  I stalled my departure to no avail and headed out aboard The Mule for a nautical ride to work.  

There’s really no way to dress for this sort of thing. If I put on a rainproof jacket, I get all hot and sweaty. If I don’t, I get all wet and possibly cold. I opted for my illuminite vest and a cotton t-shirt. I packed a second t-shirt for the ride home.

I was squishy after one mile, but the vest kept me warm so that it was actually kind of pleasant. I wore my Bike Virginia 1991 cycle cap under my helmet to keep the rain out of my eyes. After twenty minutes it was saturated with water. Water was pouring into my eyes and mouth. I could taste the shampoo from last night’s shower. Yum. At least I had a tailwind.

I hit 32 miles per hour on the Park Terrace downhill. This would have been fun but for the car that pulled out 100 yards ahead of me causing me to ride my brakes. Not that they did a damn bit of good. Fortunately the car rolled through the stop sign at the bottom of the hill. Disaster averted.

At the GW Parkway crossing, the cross traffic was incredibly heavy. I waited two minutes in the deluge. Not a happy camper.

The Mount Vernon Trail was deserted. It would appear that most trail users eat quiche on a regular basis. The rain was coming down so hard that the Canada geese in Belle Haven Park were waddling next to the trail when they normally hang out at the river’s edge.

Once at the half way point the rain abated. French Braid Girl came rolling past, wearing no additional clothing to thwart the rain. Her sole concession to the elements was that she was not wearing her RayBan aviator sunglasses. She didn’t appear to be nearly as wet as I so there was hope for the remainder of the ride.

I started seeing people after Four Mile Run, commuters from Alexandria and South Arlington. Most people were plodding along. I passed more people than passed me, a highly unusual occurance.

On the ride up the steep hill to Rosslyn, I spotted two bunnies along the side of the trail. They didn’t seem the least concerned about me rolling past. The underbrush where they hide must have been flooded.

The radar on my pc said I’d be riding into nasty weather on the way home. It lied. It was actually a pretty nice ride. I saw the Nine Hour Lawyer riding up the hill to Rosslyn. The Mule and I headed down to the MVT with a light tailwind making this a two tailwind day. With no rain coming down, I could focus on the ride. The handling on The Mule seems to be very stiff. I don’t know what is going on. Maybe I need to fiddle with the headset a bit.

South of the airport, French Braid Girl made her northbound appearance. The aviators were back on. All was right in the world.

Under the Wilson Bridge, a father watched as his two little kids rode their bikes in circles. If you know anybody with a kid learning to ride or who needs a safe place to pedal, tell them to go to Jones Point Park and ride under the bridge. It’s shaded, protected from most of the rain, and the pavement is smooth as silk.

At Northdown Road crews were working on finally repairing the road. They were tearing out cobblestones along the edge of the road. This is going to take a while.

I arrived home to a swampy yard. I put The Mule and my snorkel away.