Tag: bike commute

Dead Beavers Tell No Lies

I was back in the saddle – er, foam pad – for an early morning departure. I haven’t been to Friday Coffee Club in a long time so I was looking forward to it. It was nice of Mother Nature to give Big Nellie and me a tailwind assist. The miles seemed to fly by. I spotted a garbage bag next to the trail just south of Belle Haven Park. It turned out to be a beaver all balled up. I think he was dead. He certainly wasn’t looking very spunky.

Since I left earlier than usual, most of my regulars weren’t out yet.  So the critters kept me entertained. Near the power plant another critter caught my eye. It was a black snake coiled up in the middle of the trail. I think he’s with the beaver in critter heaven.

Near the airport I cruised by Trash Walker, my first regular of the day. Trash Walker hoofs it along the trail and picks up trash as he goes. And he always waves and says “Hello”.  He didn’t get the memo about crumpy-assed bike commuters like me.

The early morning brings out the Lancelots, the bike riders who have delusions of cycling grandeur. (Digression No. 1: Look people, you’re on a bike trail with hardly any hills. You don’t look badass passing a bike commuter carrying 30 pounds of crap on his recumbent. You are pathetic. Chill.)  I came off the first of two flyover bridges at National Airport at considerable speed. Three cyclists coming toward me decided to pass a walker just as I came upon them. (Digression No. 2: The levers on your handlebars activate your brakes. Don’t pull out into the path of an on-coming bike when you don’t have to. Wait your turn, just as you would when you’re driving your car. Otherwise I will have to use the bicycle death ray on you. You’ve been warned.)

I rode into the city with two other commuters. At the Jefferson Memorial I was overtaken by a vast bicycle commuting conspiracy. This included one of my regulars, the guy with the mountain bike with slick tires and aerobars who looks slow but goes lickety split.

Crossing Maine Avenue, French Braid Girl came past. Normally I see her four miles closer to home, so I had a good idea how early I was. As I passed the Garbage TruckWashington Monument, a bike came from my right and a runner came from my left. Somehow we avoided a calamitous collision. At Constitution Avenue the light was green (which never happens without a long wait) making up for all of life’s early morning injustices. Soon, another injustice appeared in the 15th Street Cycletrack.

At Swings, the weekly meeting of the WAAMCCD (Washingtion Area All Male Cycling Coffee Drinkers) was in session. Fortunately, we were soon joined by Kate Drake, fresh from her vacation in the high Sierras, and her friend Kate. New Kate makes the fifth cycling Kate that I know in DC, and sixth overall. The three Lisas  (all local) need to up their game.

Out of the garage I bolted into the bike lane on Lynn Street, kinda cutting off a cyclist. My bad. I caught all the lights and made for the bike trail. Two cyclists on the sidewalk to my right passed me unexpectedly on my right. No warning. Thanks, guys. (Please see discussion of the bicycle death ray, above.)  Down on the Mount Vernon Trail there were all sorts of walkers milling about. I came to a stop until they finished milling. All the way to the airport the wind was gusting into my face. A bike commuter passed my and said “This sucks!” Dude, try it in February. This is positively lovely. Takes the edge off the heat and humidity.

Once south of the airport the trees gave me relief from the headwind. Big Nellie and I tootled home. We stopped to take a picture of the beaver. He was still dead.

Kate Drake asked me about the bald eagle nests. I put her off coming down to see them. The trees have made them very hard to find.  It’s a shame. I should have put together a bald eagle ride earlier in the spring.

Tomorrow is the Tour de Fat.It’s a big party with bikes, acid rock, live nude girls, and beer.  Oh, and it’s family friendly. I know this because every ten minutes somebody tweets or posts something on Facebook about it. (If you are fat, they let you in for free, I hear.) I was tempted to go for the entire event which lasts something like six hours. I can do six hours of bikes or beer or acid rock or live nude girls. (Okay, I am kidding about the live nude girls. There will be at least 1,200 Kates in attendance so that counts for something.) Owing to my age and marital status, I decided I’d go for one hour. My plan is to ride to the Washington Folk Festival at Glen Echo Park to see my friend Lisa’s Japanese taiko drum group at 2 then ride to the Tour de Fat.  I hope they have some beer left.

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Tailwind Sucker and Other Foolishness

I’ve been riding a bike for longer than most readers of this blog have been alive. One thing that astounds me is the fact that I still am routinely suckered in by a tailwind. You know the feeling when you are zipping along effortlessly on a bike and your brain says, “Damn, I got it going today.” Then you turn around and find out that you were being pushed along by a fierce tailwind. My college friends Becca and Susan used to mock me for being gullible. They had it right.

This has been a week of threats. The looming threat of thunderstorms. Well, it boomed a little last night after I went to bed, but my commutes have been mostly rain free. Except for tonight. I was doing okay for the first few miles. There were some towering thunderclouds hanging about, but nothing to worry about. (I had reason to worry. I was on a steel bike, with a steel u-lock and a metal laptop. I was a lightning magnet.)  I should have been more concerned about the rain though. As I passed under the 14th Street bridge I felt a few drops. Cyclists coming from the airport ahead of me were stopping under the bridges I had yet to go under. As I cleared the last one, I saw it: a squall line running from east to west across the Potomac River. I rode right into it. The wind was blowing the rain into my face. The cold water felt pretty good though. As I turned to head due west at Gravelly Point I could see the rain coming down sideways. A few minutes later I emerged from the back end of the line and all was copacetic.  Once I cleared the airport, I had some tree cover to cut the headwind. Live was good.

DSCN2306Somebody placed a series of signs along the trail the other day. They had lost their keys. The signs showed that even when an inconvenience comes, some people still have a sense of humor. As the good doctor once said, “It’s fun to have fun but you have to know how.”

Today was a four-regular day. I saw Three Step Runner and Hoppy Guy in the morning. In the evening I saw Bent Ankle Biker and French Braid Girl. French Braid Girl has been to the beach; her arms were bronze. I actually have a couple of other people in mind for regular status. One is a man who I see walking along the trail across the DC monuments. He takes his time and picks up trash as he goes. He always says “Hello.” The other is a guy on a blue mountain bike. He has two small panniers on a rack on the back. He lives down near me. The bike looks like a beater bike except that the tires are smooth and he has an aero bar on the front. He hauls ass on that thing.

When I left the office last night, a colleague, noting the hot and muggy weather outside said, “You’re not riding home in this weather, are you?” My response was, “It beats the hell out of January.” I might have added February, March and April to that.

One of the best things about riding in warm weather is the transitions. I don’t have to put all those extra layers of clothing on. Shirt, shorts, socks, shoes. GO,

Tomorrow’s a no-go. My son is having his wisdom teeth out so I will be working from home to make sure he doesn’t have any problems. I am looking forward to a nice long ride this weekend. Maybe I’ll take Big Nellie out and make vroom vroom noises at the Rolling Thunder motorcycle riders.

The Not-so-bad Monday

When the weather turns from warm dry spring days to swampy summertime here in DC, we get afternoon thunderstorms. Prior to spending a summer in DC in 1980, I’d never witnessed the wrath of a DC thunderstorm.  They are like a special effects movie. Find a good vantage point, sit back and enjoy the show.

Big Nellie’s foam seat is not the best thing to sit on during one of these downpours. Since LIttle Nellie is fresh out of drydock, I decided to ride her in today. Like yesterday’s ride, it was a brisk jaunt, even with the extra weight of a couple of panniers.  

Except for a few mallards and Canada geese, wildlife took the day off. Do bald eagles telecommute?  Closer to DC I rode into a light mist. Twas pleasant and downright hydratin’.

The Hoppy Runner, Hardware Store Guy, And Bob (Don’t Call Me Rachel) Cannon made guest appearances.  I broke Bob out of deep thought; he was probably pondering weighty Internet law issues or, maybe, what doughnut to have when he reached the office. Or, maybe, like me, he goes into a trance-like autopilot when he rides the well worn path to the office.

As I went up the steep top part of the hill to Rosslyn, my new chain and cassette decided to misbehave. The chain wouldn’t sit on the big cog and made a nasty sound. I dismounted and checked it out. Of course, everything looked fine once I had stopped. The episode was especially annoying because Little Nellie’s drive train had worked perfectly for the 45 miles I had ridden since picking her up at Spokes. I guess I’ll stop back in on the way home and have them look things over.

On the ride home I spotted Mark the Dismal Scientist and Eric the Nine Hour Layer. That made it a five-regular day which is probably some kind of record. The ride home was a jaunty one (using the word “jaunt” twice in a blog post is also a record).  I tested the naughty gears again a couple of times and they refused to be repaired by the my power of telepathy. I stopped at Spokes and they tweaked the rear derailler. I rode up a hill on Fort Hunt Road to give it a test. There was a bit of skip in one of the gears but everything worked, more or less. I made it home without a hideous crash.

The hoped for show of nature’s climactic fury didn’t happen so I will save the popcorn for tomorrow evening.

Chips and Queso, Ceteris Non Paribus

Saturday brought the last ride on Little Nellie for a while. I rode to my daughter’s last high school lacrosse game. She played goalie. As a parent I had mixed feelings. Most of the shots she would stop would hit flesh and turn into ugly bruises after the game. You want her to play well, but you hate to see the consequences. Ironically, this is the first season of high school sports that she played injury free, despite having to wear ice bags every night.

At one point on the ride to the game, I spent a half mile dodging several dozen runners who clogged the Rock Creek Trail. They were running side by side, hopping unpredictably to avoid puddles, refusing to move over to let me pass and generally being a pain in the ass. I was pretty impressed that I didn’t collide with any of them. This sort of thing is sadly not all that unusual in the summers around these parts. Soon it will be hot and muggy and these folks will be on treadmills until September.

The ride home was pleasant enough. The skies never carried out their threat to rain like a bitch.

Sunday was devoted to bike maintenance. Little Nellie barely made it up to Calvert Street from Rock Creek Trail. Her chain was skipping across the cogs at unpredictable intervals. I managed to maintain forward momentum all the way up the hill, and the subsequent ride up 29th Street. I installed a new Capreo cassette myself. Then took the bike to my local bike shop for a bunch of other repairs including a new chain, two new sprockets (front gears), three new cables and housings, a headset adjustment, re-lubing of the bottom bracket, and new front brake pads.

After the maintenance was taken care of, I sat down to watch sports on TV with my son. We watched a Nationals game and a Capitals game. This was hard work so we ate chips and queso dip to keep our strength up.

This morning I felt like a sumo wrestler. I wobbled out to the shed and mounted Big Nellie. I swear she groaned. I used to eat anything I wanted and lost weight. Of course, I was running 70 miles per week at the time. That’s the caloric equivalent of about 280 miles of riding. Ain’t gonna happen, folks. Gotta stop snacking with the homeboy.

The ride to work was less than vigorous. I saw two of my regulars, Hoppy Runner and Hardware Store Man, on the way to work. Some bike commuters had the audacity to pass Big Nellie near the south end of the airport. Big Nellie does not like such rudeness. Suffice it to say, that Big Nellie put the hammer down.  Street luge in the cool of the morning will put hair on your fairing.

An amazing thing happened at the Rosslyn Circle of Death. I have to cross the I-66 off ramp where it intersects North Lynn Street at a traffic light. They never stop when the light turns red. Today, they did. I felt like getting off my bike and congratulating the drivers. Such is life in the zone of certain death.

After leaving the office, I stopped to chat with Bob (Don’t Call Me Rachel) Cannon of the FCC and the FCC. Over the last year a Hispanic man had set up home in the brush along the trail near the Rosslyn Circle of Death. He had meticulously built a home of sorts by lashing together a lattice work of sticks and other materials. It was pretty ingenious. He occasionally played a violin while sitting on a bench next to the trail. Somebody decided that his squatting was not to be and they bulldozed his home of sticks. I hope he finds someplace to live. He added character to the trail.

On the Mount Vernon Trail I was passed by Eric the Nine Hour Lawyer. Eric works at my former office and rides to work during the spring, summer and fall. I figure he works nine hours because I only see him riding home.

During both legs of my commute, I checked out the trunks of trees along the way. No cicadas yet. We are only days away from a spectacular invasion of a few bazillion creepy flying bugs.

Just as I passed the secondary runway at National Airport, a jet took off over the trail behind me. For a moment, I thought that the roar was chips and queso hitting the afterburners on Big Nellie’s engine.

South of Old Town, I spotted a massive motorcade of police vehicles. It was the escort of a pack of bicyclists riding the Police Unity Tour. Kate, a fellow #bikedc blogger, and DC police officer also rode in the event as she did last year. It raises awareness of police officers killed in the line of duty and for a memorial and museum in their honor.

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A few miles later I pulled over to check out the Morningside bald eagle nest. It is almost completely obscured now by the leaves on the trees. I waited for a few minutes and then I saw the flapping of wings from a large bald eagle in the nest. It was probably feeding its eaglets.

I moved on and heard a strange sounding bird flying overhead. It was a large osprey, with a bright white underbelly, flying in swoops over the Parkway. It was putting on quite a show.

The ride home was effortless. Could it be that chips and queso are miracle bicycling food? That would be awesome. Sadly, ceteris was not paribus. My easy ride home was attributable to a strong tailwind, the kind that turns in Big Nellie’s fairing into a sail.

Latin spoils everything.

Today was [Trumpet fanfare!!!] my 50th bike commute of the year. I knew it was supposed to rain this morning so I watched the radar on TV very closely and set out for work when there was a clear gap in the storms. About 1/4 of a mile into the ride, I saw a flash and heard a boom. It then occurred to me that the guy at the TV station  who lines up the doppler radar echos with a map needs to find a new job.

I wore shorts and a shirt under a rain jacket. It worked okay. There was a whole lot of standing water along my route so my feet got soaked.

I lucked out in that there wasn’t any more lightning and thunder. Just rain. Lots and lots or rain.

The upside to this nasty weather was that the Mount Vernon Trail was empty. No tourists. No people with dogs on 15 foot leashes. No five year olds careening all over the place on training wheels. No Lancelots blowing by me without warning inches from my left elbow. Just me, Little Nellie, and a few bazillion gallons of cold rain.

As I rounded the bend at Gravelly Point, the rain was joined by a gale force crosswind. I had to lean into the wind to avoid being blown into the Potomac River, where white caps were dancing.

The westerly wind came in handy when I turned onto the 14th Street bridge. It blew me across the Potomac. As I reached the Tidal Basin, I could see that the cherry blossoms had succumbed to the storm. Thousands of little blossom petals littered the sidewalk and street. I’m sad to see them go, placed along the trail by eastern redbuds’ purple blossoms.  And soon we’ll soon be dealing with the 17-year cicadas. Eek!

I walked into Swings for Friday Coffee Club and the six cyclists who were there laughed at me. I probably looked like a wet rag. We stood around a couple of tables, drinking coffee and letting the morning’s rain run off our clothes onto the floor. Normally, on Friday mornings I take my coffee with a heaping spoonful of estrogen. Not today. For the first time ever, it was all guys. Was it something we said?

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The ride to Rosslyn across the narrow path on the TR Bridge featured a first: not one stop for DC-bound cyclists.  I did have to slow to squeeze by a runner but she gave me plenty of room.

When I arrived at work, I was greeted with this:Image

The bike parking had been taken over by movers. I pushed some of their moving stuff out of the way and tied Little Nellie to the hitching post. Then it was off to the fitness center where I used an abundance of towels to dry off my stuff.

By the end of the day, my office reeked of wet wool. It’s amazing what an odor just two wet wool socks can put out.

The ride home was dry and warm. The MVT was clear sailing all the way home. My pair of geese is back where they belong in Dyke Marsh but there were no gosslings. Yet.

What’s August Going to Be Like?

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It was t-shirt and shorts day. No need for layers since it was already 65 degrees outside when I left the house. I have been so obsessed with the cherry blossoms in DC that I forgot about the one on the front lawn. It’s a weeping cherry and Little Nellie thinks it looks fine.

The ride in was as splendid as a bike ride could be. My only problem was the fact that I got only 5 hours of sleep last night because it was 80 degrees in our house. We are experiencing a bit of a heat wave here in DC.  The thermometer hit 90 today which broke the record. Fortunately the humidity was low, so there were no dead bodies along the Mount Vernon Trail.

Unfortunately, the lovely weather has brought out the Lancelots, cyclists who think its reasonable to buzz past you without warning at 25 miles per hour. I will not cry when I see one of them under a BMW.

On the way home I diverted into DC for a final ride by the cherry blossoms. It seemed a good ten degrees cooler in DC. There were people everywhere. I rode two laps around East Potomac Park, meeting up with Dana from the Friday Coffee Club. We continued on through the epic traffic jam, on to the 14th Street bridge, and south on the MVT.  I mentioned that it seemed significantly hotter on this side of the river. Dana said, “That’s because we’re in the south.” He should be a meteorologist.

We had a fierce headwind. Dana tucked in behind me and was kind enough not to rear end me when I came to a near stop several times. At the south end of the airport, Dana turned off on the Four Mile Run trail. I continued into the wind.

Near the power plant two passing runners looked like they were having seizures. I heard one of them say “bugs”. A second later I was in one of those spring time bug clouds. Ack!

The rest of the ride was honest work. I didn’t see any interesting waterfowl. Or raptors. My recent regulars weren’t around, but I did see Hardware Store Guy. He owns the hardware store near my house. He rides a red Serotta up and down the MVT in the morning.

Tomorrow I get the day off. My daughter has a lacrosse game and my wife turns 37 again.

April Fog Day

I really didn’t want to go back to work today, but I have to admit that riding nearly the entire way in pea soup fog made the transition from a week off much easier.

There’s a little dip in Collingwood Road about 1/4 mile from my house. The fog had settled in so thickly that I could barely make out the road ahead.  I had some blinky lights on front and back. My executive decision to remove my helmet mounted headlight seemed a bit premature.

I also decided to wear shorts because the forecast called for warm afternoon temperatures. Of course, the fact that it was only 45 when I left the house made for an invigorating ride, particularly when descending the Park Terrace hill at 30 miles per hour.

There wasn’t much to see along the river. The sun was doing its best to burn off the fog bank but the fog was winning the battle.

Fog is water vapor. When it hits your skin it turns to water. Did I wear my waterproof jacket? Of course not. That would have made sense.  I’d already made two bone-headed decisions. I was on a roll. Three for three.

I looked down and noticed that my wool arm warmers were covered in droplets of water. It looked like tinsel.

Rolling along the Mount Vernon Trail I spotted a form running toward me. It was Hoppy Runner, one of my regulars who runs with a pronounced hop on one leg. Later, in Old Town Nancy Duley appeared from the cloud. Two miles further on French Braid Girl made her appearance.

There was no hope of seeing whether the cherry blossoms were blooming. Hell, I couldn’t see the other side of the river. The Washington Monument was a shadow. I expected that the fog would lift but about an hour into the ride the river was socked in. I took a picture of the Kennedy Center. I swear it was there the last time I rode to work.

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If you look really hard, you may see the Kennedy Center. Really.

When I got to work there was a strange new bike in the rack. It had an electric assist motor. I think we are going to see more and more of these in the years ahead.

By midday the temperature had reached 66. The ride home was looking pretty sweet. Unfortunately, the wind picked up by the end of the day. It was coming from the west north west which meant I would have a tailwind for most of the ride.

On Saturday, I put new brake pads on the rear of Little Nellie. The brake levers were now very tight. And, as luck would have it, the pads were sticking to the rim. I tried to adjust them several times to no avail. I watched a video when I got home to see if I was doing anything wrong. Not really.

I’ll probably swing by my local bike shop tomorrow after work. They should be able to free the pads up. If they can find them in the fog.

Pix from today’s ride can be found on my Flickr page.

Friday on My MInd

Can you say “It’s Friday” and not smile? I can’t.

I headed out in the dark aboard Big Nellie. I made the Park Terrace descent at high speed and crossed the Parkway without having to stop for the second day in a row. I hit the Mount Vernon Trail at 17 miles per hour with a smile on my face.

I was hoping to see bald eagles, because they tend to be out and about at sunrise.  I was rewarded for my early departure with two eagles. The first was perched on a branch above the Belle Haven nest.  I am pretty sure it was a male, because he looked very big. The second was on the wing near Daingerfield Island between Old Town and National Airport.  This is an unusual place to see eagles so it was an extra bonus. Riding a recumbent is advantageous in this regard, because of the heads-up riding position.

Just before the second bald eagle, I had a Nancy Duley siting. Normally we pass on Union Street, but my early departure moved today’s passing to the beaver marsh north of Slaters Lane. She later said that I made her think she was late.  I like to mess with people’s minds. I saw French Braid Rider, one of my regulars, well north of our normal passing point. She had a concerned look on her face. I’ll bet she thought she was late too.

A light tailwind made the ride honest, but workaday, which is appropriate because it is a work day after all.  I came off the second fly over bridge at the airport with an impressive head of steam, maxing out at 25 miles per hour. I passed the airport fence where it juts out into the trail and there was a small executive jet right above me. It was coming in for a landing on the secondary runway. It’s creepy how they seem to appear out of nowhere.

After I passed under the flight path to the main runway, a 737 landed. A few seconds later a black duck flew from the river into the plane’s air wake. He went haywire, looking as if he had hit an invisible wall. It was like something out of a cartoon. He somehow gathered himself midair, turned, and hightailed it back to the river where the air was calm.

On the way to Friday Coffee Club, I nearly clipped the concrete base of a wrought iron fence at 15th and Constitution. I had to rein in Big Nellie. Whoa, Nellie. I met up with famous local blogger, bike commuter, and curmudgeon Brian in front of the White House. We chatted until we tied up our steeds outside Swings Coffee Saloon.

Friday Coffee Club was crowded, mostly with people I don’t know.  Even so, I had lively conversations with seven or eight people. When warm weather comes, we will definitely have to  move the group outside.

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(Please note that WordPress refused to embed the photo of the Friday Coffee Club, even when I used html. What lovely software.)

After FCC, I rode past the wooden elks at the Kennedy Center and across the TR Bridge to Rosslyn. The trip up Lynn Street through the Rosslyn Circle of Death was a challenge. At the I-66 off ramp, a white SUV trying to make a right turn on red blocked my access to the crosswalk.  I yelled to get the driver’s attention since she was looking away from me to see if she could turn. She didn’t hear me. So then I really hollered.  She looked at me from her perch behind the wheel with derision as I rolled in front of her grill. I yelled “Get out of the crosswalk” to her and she honked at me. I’m just trying to keep you from putting me in the ER or the grave, you incompetent, scofflaw dipstick.

A block later I watched as two cars coming down Lee Highway ran the red light on Lynn Street to get onto the I-66 ramp. Don’t mind the rest of us. Getting to the office one minute quicker is far more important than anybody else’s lives.

Another block later at 19th Street, a shuttle with a U.S. Forest Service decal on the side, pulled into the crosswalk on red.  I yelled at the driver who was looking the other way. He couldn’t hear me. Rather than take a chance that he would execute his turn while I was in the crosswalk in front of him,  I stopped. Instead of turning, he waited for the green light. Better safe than roadkill. Still four dangerous driving incidents in a quarter mile is ridiculous.

Once I reached the far side of 19th Street, I encountered the Vamoose bus crowd. Arlington lets intercity bus operators to use the corner of Lynn and 19th as a bus terminal. The Vamoose employee had his back to me when he waved the soon-to-be passengers across the sidewalk in front of me. I duck walked through the crowd. Yabba dabba do.

When I got to the parking garage, I knelt and kissed the ground. I cheated Rosslyn once more.

I rode home into a headwind. I won. No one tried to run me over. I won again.

Tomorrow I rest. Sunday I ride for soup. It’s a Swedish thing.

Last Days of Blindness

Friday’s are usually tough.  This week was different. Wednesday brought a day off from work courtesy of some meteorological legerdemain. I took Thursday off in anticipation of ice on the Mount Vernon Trail. I woke this morning with fresh legs. I needed them.

This whole week has been day after day of  strong winds out of the northwest.  A headwind every morning.  It can be dispiriting. It feels as if you are trying to move forward with the huge hand pushing against your chest.  By the time I reached Old Town I was already sick of it and I was not even half way to DC. In my mirror I spotted a rider who eventually pulled up behind me for protection from the wind. This lasted for about a mile when the rider passed me, probably after realizing that my recumbent was too low to provide much of a wind break. To my surprise the trailing rider was using aero bars. Misery loves company.

I crossed the Potomac on the 14th Street Bridge. The wind was now a cross wind. With the fairing on Big Nellie I can sometimes tack like a sailboat. I wasn’t having much luck though.

I walked into Friday Coffee Club well around 8 a.m. and it was already crowded. Two tables were full and it was still early. I newbie came in and took a spot at my table. He said I looked familiar. As it turns out, he lives in my neighborhood and has seen me voting in my cycling clothes on election day. Small world. Welcome to Coffee Club, Jeff.

Jeff - Friday Coffee Club Noobie

There were perhaps 20 people in attendance. Many of them I didn’t know. Some I had never seen before. And many of the regulars weren’t there. I can’t imagine how crowded it will get when it warms up. At least then we’ll be able to sit outside.

I left Coffee Club in the company of Brian, who works for American University. Brian has a tough uphill ride every morning that he chronicles in his entertaining, informative, witty and grumpy blog. You should read it. It’s way good. We fought our way up G Street through the George Washington University campus. (You can tell it’s a stellar school because they insist on using the word “The” in their name.)

After Brian turned for his long uphill slog, I made for the TR Bridge. It was particularly challenging in the strong cross wind that actually made my fairing flap. I made it without incident and spent the next 8 hours working for the man.

The man is merciful and let me go home to my wife and child. Once clear of the winds in Lynn Street Canyon, I turned onto the Mount Vernon Trail. Tailwind!!!!!  Big Nellie pretended to be going downhill the whole way home.  Near the airport the trail makes a big “S”. As I turned into the S, the tailwind became a cross wind. I literally had to lean into the wind to stay upright. Once out of the S, I could lose myself in thought.

This week the National Women’s Bicycling Forum was held near DC. One of the themes was that the cycling industry does a lousy job of meeting the needs of women cyclists and encouraging women to ride. As I saw tweets during the event, I thought of all the women I have met through Friday Coffee Club in the past year. According to Myers-Briggs I am a huge introvert, so it kind of flabbergasting to me that I know so many women cyclists around here.:

Charmaine, Reba, Mary, Laura, Lauren, Kirsten, Kristin, Kate, Kate, Kate, Kate, Katie Ann, Kathy, Rachel, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Heather, Nancy, Jean, Jane, Liz, Crystal, Claire, Leslie, Meg, Florencia, Veronica, Amy, Erika, Shane, Alex, and Bec.

In the first 20 years of cycling as an adult, I can name a whopping total of six women that I rode with: Becca, Anne, Kate (not one of the above Kates), Bev, Jody, and Mrs. Rootchopper.  Times have definitely changed.

By the way, at least two of the women listed above had ridden coast to coast. (One of them actually did the ride during Bikecentennial in 1976.) If you guess who they are, I’ll buy you a coffee next week.

There’s one thing that I am troubled by: what the hell is with all the Kates?

Today marks the end of cycling during Eastern Standard Time. Beginning Monday, I can ride home without headlights in my eyes. It doesn’t take much to make me a happy camper.

The Infinite Bike Commute

It’s Friday. Had to get up early. Had to get out of the house. Conversation and smiling faces awaited at Swings House of Caffeine. So off I rode on Big Nellie. She was missing me after three days of wet-ish weather.

All this switching back and forth has cost me my recumbent legs. Ask anybody who rides one. It’s true. You use different leg muscles on a ‘bent. Spinning is the key. Mashing the pedals is bad. Your arms are rendered useless. They really should put a steering wheel on ‘bents instead of a handlebar because it feels more like driving, except when your going downhill.. Downhills are like luge runs. Woosh!

One of the bald eagles was perched in the tree adjacent to the tree with the Belle Haven nest. He was just hanging out, chewing on his talons, and having a smoke. Actually, I made that part up. It’s hard to tell what he was doing. My suspicion is that eagles perch in trees at sunrise to warm up a bit before heading off to the office. Eagles are not allowed to work at Yahoo.

Somehow I managed to make all the lights going up 15th Street. This is a first. I felt like the caffeine gods were on my side. I ahd to get creative at the White House. Crews closed off Pennsylvania Avenue as they disassembled the viewing stands for the inaugural parade. I rode a windy path through Lafayette Park. Some tourists were walking toward me. A little boy spotted Big Nellie and his eyes widened. You could hear his head saying, “Wow!”  I waved at him. As I went past, I heard him jabbering to his mom about that cool bike. In five more years, he’d bea tween and would be telling her, “That guy looked like such a dork.”

I arrived at Swings ready to medicate. As usual the crowd was chatty. Espresso and the prospect of the weekend perks (sorry) everybody up.

Today’s surprise attendee was Reba. Reba lives down near me, but I haven’t seen her in ages. Welcome back! Bob (Don’t-Call-Me-Rachel) Cannon was at the same table. Screw Siontz and Kirk; come to Friday Coffee Club for all your lawyering needs. We also had Chris, Ricky Lee, Will, John (Mr. Hoppy 100) and Aaron at our table.

I had a chance to talk to GOTB (Groupie-of-the-Blog) Kirsten (officially the bestest hugger at Friday Coffee Club). She keeps asking me to take her on the Rootchopper tour, the one where I summon bald eagles and members of the #bikedc community out of thin air. If I had any cartilage left in my knees I’d do a swap. I’d have her give me the Ultrarunnergilr tour of trail running.  In my 20s and early 30s I ran a lot (My marathon PR was 3:04:29. Never forget it.), but nearly all of it on the roads. Trail running sounds like a lot of fun, although I am not sure I could have ever done the 50K run (over 30 miles) that she did last weekend.

The hope is that when I ride to Rosslyn from Swings I get to go across the TR Bridge without stopping. This has only happened once in the last year. The trail on the bridge is too narrow for safe passage of two bikes so I always end up pulling over and stopping. I will get points for this when I go to bike commuter heaven.

Considering it was Friday and I was tired and grumpy by day’s end, the ride home went lickety split. (Yes. I just said lickety split.) I had a consistent tailwind so I broke 20 miles per hour on several stretches between Rosslyn and Old Town. Yowza.

In Old Town, I checked the flexipost that I hit last night. It looked none the worse for wear. I did notice, however, that it was positioned in the middle of the street directly in line with the right edge of the trail. That explains why I hit it (well, that and my general incompetence). I veered to the right to avoid a couple of cyclists cutting across my direction of travel. When I leaned to head back to the left I hit the post.  The reflective material on the post was facing away from me, which explains why my headlight didn’t illuminate it.

I managed to avoid all obstacles, foreign and domestic, on the rest of the ride home. It was another 150 mile bike commute week.

There was a lot of talk about retirement at the office. Retirement is an infinite bike commute.