Tag: bike commute

Broken Shell, Broken Heart

Every May I look forward to seeing snapping turtles laying their eggs on the edge of the Mount Vernon Trail. Snappers are big. Their shells are about the size of a dinner plate. If you get you fingers near their mouths, you won’t have them for long.

Last week I saw a baby snapping turtle. It looked just like an adult but its shell was only about as big as a 50 cent piece.

Today, I saw an adult snapper next to the trail. It didn’t register in my mind until I had ridden past it. I stopped and walked back only to see something horrible. The turtle was alive but in obvious distress, it’s shell cracked just behind its head. I have no idea how this happened but my guess is that it was run over by a car.

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I was relieved to see that it was gone when I rode past this evening.

About an hour later, my daughter and I were driving to dinner in Old Town. About a half mile from where I saw this turtle, I saw another one at the edge of the George Washington Memorial Parkway. It had been run over and looked like it was dead.

I really wanted to see some snapper turtles this spring. Now I am not so sure.

My Meditation

An old friend of mine has an intense interest in eastern philosophies. Sometimes refers to my bike commute as my meditation. She didn’t know me back in the day when I ran ten miles per day. I used to embrace running for my mind more than for my body. For those of you who think I am “chill” now, you’d think I was an icebox back then.

My friend has a point. Since my bike commute doesn’t involve a nonstop war with cars, I can zone out during my ride. Often friends pass me and say hello and I don’t realize it until they are past. Sometimes I get a little carried away. This morning I rode to my physical therapy appointment. About 1 1/2 miles into the ride, I encountered a hill. Not a big one but one that requires an honest effort. I started to spin and my mind drifted from the effort. Spin, breathe, spin, breathe.

“GOOD MORNING!”

I looked up and there, not ten feet in front of me, was a woman walking a dog.

“SORRY”

Good thing she wasn’t a garbage truck.

That little trance is a place I go often. My friend is right; my commute is my meditation. There is no doubt at all that my mood is much better when I am not fighting the cold and wind and rain and just spinning along with my mind disconnected by the repetitive motion of my legs and lungs. It’s the sort of thing I can’t consciously bring about. It’s a natural side effect from the simple task of going from point A to B under my own power.

I love my meditatiion. I love my bike commute.

Goslings!!!!

  • I write often about the bald eagles and great blue herons I see along the Mount Vernon Trail on the way to work. They are pretty cool but I get even more of a kick when the babies start showing up. Today was my first sighting of goslings. There were four of them and they were just little green balls of down. This was the best I could do with my camera without getting Mom and Dad really upset.DSCN3716_850

After a few moments, they went for a swim.

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I should be seeing ducklings any day now. Then, with luck, I may see a snapping turtle laying eggs along the trail. They like to use the edge of the trail for leverage as they did a hole for the eggs with their hind feet.

I’m sure there are bike commutes somewhere that are better than mine, but I wouldn’t trade mine for any of them.

And I Didn’t Even Die

I rode to work today without a helmet on my head. I wore a silly bike hat instead. It was soft. It was comfy. It has a visor on it. Sometimes I pushed the visor up for extra dorkiness.

The weather was pretty close to perfect. I don’t remember much about the ride in except I saw Lawyer Mike roll through the intesection of doom without dying.

The ride home was MOTS. That means More of the Same. (I learned this from a TV weatherman in Boston.) Except it was warmer. And I had a tailwind. And the clouds were puffy. As I rolled south, Chris B rolled north. Hi Chris. He always salutes. Must think I’m the general.

There was a bald eagle at the Belle Haven nest in the morning and in the evening. In Belle Haven Park a little girl on a pink bike with tassles and white tires rolled across the trail in front of me. Oops. I didn’t hit her. She didn’t die.

There are little mole hills (I think) here and there along the trail near Belle Haven Boulevard. I think they are from moles. Whenever I think of moles, I think of Superman. The old black and white TV show. I loved that show. I always wondered why Superman ducked when the bad guys threw their empty pistols at him.

I stopped at the Tulane nest. There was a big bald eagle looking away from me toward the river. I took some pictures but my camera doesn’t have enough zoom on its lens. The nest is harder to see with each passing day.

I made it home. Without a helmet. I didn’t even die.

En Garde!

I really wish I had the presence of mind to take pictures while I am riding. Today I was dealing with a cold headwind and not in the mood to stop. I see some weird stuff on my way to work too.

Last night in Belle Haven Park I spotted two guys sword fighting with fake swords right next to the trail. As I passed, one guy swooshed his “sword” across the others’ abdomen. Eek.

This morning as I rode through the park, I heard a clanging sound. I looked over at the river expecting to see a worker pounding a metal fence stake into the ground. Instead I saw four men, in pairs of two, sword fighting with real metal swords. En garde!

I tweeted about the swordfighters and my friend Linel who has a similar commute mentioned another odd sighting. She saw a guy who hooks his electric guitar up to his car stereo and rocks out in the Belle Haven Park parking lot. Funny thing is, I saw a guy doing the same thing in the TR Roosevelt Island parking lot last week. I think Linel would agree that our bike commute rocks!

My bike commute never ceases to surprise me.

Pre-tour Dry Run in Front

It is the last week of April. The weatherman didn’t get the memo. It was in the 40s when I left the house. I couldn’t bring myself to wear long pants. Suffice it to say, I was cold most of the way to work. I am less than two weeks away from the start of a week-long bike tour from Pittsburgh to DC so I thought it would be a good idea to try out the front low-rider rack on The Mule.

The front rack made by Tubus has wider diameter tubing than my old Blackburn rack. Since the attachment hardware on my panniers cannot easily be switched from one tube diameter to another, I have a set of small Ortlieb roll top panniers set up for use on the front rack. To my surprise they hold very little stuff. I could just fit my work clothes, shoes and a U-lock.

Front panniers for first time

The steering was sluggish. The Mule’s steers like a bus anyway so I didn’t have to make much of an adjustment.

Between the cold and the increasing foliage, I was in the zone for most of the ride. I totally forgot about the Tulane bald eagle nest. The Belle Haven nest has two ospreys near it.

The ride to Rosslyn happened without notice. It was one of those “How did I get here” rides. The Intersection of Doom was another story entirely. Bikes and runners and walkers and cars were going every which way. How I managed to get through it all without a collision is beyond me. A guy on a bike passed me on the sidewalk approaching 19th street. As he did I noticed the walk count down was at 2 seconds. He accelerated into the crosswalk in front of cars waiting to turn right. Dude, you’re gonna die young if you ride like that.

The ride home was about 15 degrees warmer. It didn’t feel like it though. As I approached the turn off for the Memorial Bridge, I noticed a big group of loaded bike tourists turning to cross the Parkway. I quickly pulled out my camera, aimed, and….beep. “Battery Exhausted.” So you’ll have to take my word for it.

I continued south toward home with a pleasant tailwind. Climbing up one of the flyover bridges at National Airport I was stirred from my trance by a “Hi John!” It was Sam from Friday Coffee Club. By the time I realized it was her she was almost past me. So for the record, “Hi Sam.”

I remembered to stop at the Tulane nest. It is barely visible now. The leaves on the trees obscure the view from the trail. I have landmarks picked out so I will still be able to see it once the trees finish getting their foliage.

One other odd thing happened. When I got home and unpacked my cell phone was warm. It turns out that it was in a very tightly packed pannier with no air circulation. I’ll have to make sure I don’t repeat this mistake during the tour.

So not a bad start to the work week. And one little detail checked off the pre-tour list.

This Is Getting Troublesome

Bike commuting on the Mount Vernon Trail normally brings the enjoyment of wildlife. Lately, it has started to get a bit creepy. Last week I rode by the head and spine of a Canada goose. No meat. No legs. No wings. No feathers.

Today on the way to work I passed a dead Canada goose lying on the trail. This one was the complete bird. I took a picture tonight on the way home. It had been moved to the side of the trail. It appeared to be headless. I wasn’t about to pick it up to be sure.

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A few minutes before I stopped at the Tulane bald eagle nest. As I started to ride away, I noticed part of the skeleton of an animal in the trailside grass. I couldn’t make out what it was but it was gross.

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Here it is turned over with my foot as perspective.

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I don’t know if these three dead animals are connected but they were all found close to the Tulane nest. I am guessing today’s goose was hit by a car. These other two animals were picked clean.

Allison, My Aim Is True (Sorry, couldn’t resist)

The weatherman said that the morning commute would be wet. Fortunately for me, the rain left the area around 6 a.m. I felt a sprinkle now and then but I didn’t mind them one bit. It was a pretty nice ride. The post rain sunlight, no longer a sunrise due to the lengthening days, looked pretty on the Potomac at Dyke Marsh. Little Nellie posed for a picture,

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The ride home was an entirely different matter. At four storms started showing up on radar. My office mates in Rosslyn sent my boss home because he picks up his kids by bike. I waited a while longer because the radar looked much worse than what I could see out the window which was light rain. By this time Allison, one of my co-workers, was in full freak out mode.

I hit the road at a bit after 4:30. There was only a sprinkle now and then. The cold raindrops were noticable in warm spring air on my body. The wind wasn’t too bad and I could see blue sky peaking through the clouds. The cars approaching on the GW Parkway did not have their headlights on. So I was pretty sure I was safe riding.

DSCN3706_837At the southern end of Old Town Alexandria things changed pretty quickly. I rode under the Wilson Bridge and could feel a blast of cold air. Not good. Heading south from the beltway on the Mount Vernon Trail I could see that the cars all had their headlights on. Looking down river a line of rain presented itself. And it was approaching fast. I stopped to take a picture and put on my rain jacket. These two things took maybe 30 seconds to do. By the time I had zipped up, I was in a downpour. I jumped on Little Nellie and headed into the maelstrom. The rain was so hard it hurt my skin. My shorts were soaked through and through within 15 seconds. Then the waves of wind gusts came, announced by the sheets of rain they sent directly into me. There was a distant rumble of thunder but otherwise I was unconcerned. I’ve ridden in much worse. Since I could see the gusts coming, I could brace for impact. As I made it to Belle Haven Park my concerned shifted from rain to falling tree limbs. Twice in prior years I have narrowly escaped getting clobbered by a huge falling limb.

By the time I cleared the park, the rain and gusts had stopped. Two minutes from start to finish. The rest of the ride home was actually nice.

Three hours later, all hell broke loose. Timing is everything. My aim is true.

Clipless in Old Town

The weather the last couple of days has been raw. Cold. Wet. Windy. Not a lot of fun. I rode to work yesterday in a cold rain. The workday wasn’t much better. The ride home was an improvement over the morning but not by much. I spent the evening watching the Nationals get their first win of the year. I was at home, parked in front of the TV with junk food and beer. It was therapeutic.

The ride to work was a replay of the ride home last night. Cold. A little windy. No mas. At least the workday went okay. I had wanted to swing by the cherry blossoms on the way home but the threat of rain put me off. I rode into a cold headwind straight home. At the intersection of Union and King Streets in Old Town a bunch of bicycle folks from Alexandria were holding up signs and encouraging bicyclists to come to a stop at the stop sign. As I rode by one of them said, “That’s Rootchopper.” My hobo attire and Bike Friday gave me away I suppose. I recognized Randy, the last person in line just before the stop sign. I stuck my hand out for a high five which he gave me with appropriate vigor. Then I spazzed.

I went to stop and my foot wouldn’t unclip from my pedal. This is the second time in a week. The last time was with different shoes and a different bike. In any event, a full stop at the stop sign would have meant a very embarrassing and painful fall. Fortunately there were no pedestrians or cars in the way so I wobbled to my right, a few feet up King Street still unable to unclip. I did a u-turn and finally the foot came free.  I think I need new cleats. Doh.

Embarassed by both running the stop sign and spasmotically riding through the intersection I continued on my way home. I swear I stopped at all the stop signs and lights the rest of the way. Really.

I hope that the rest of my night is better. When I was a freshman in college, I lived with the Boston U. hockey team. They went all the way to the championship game in the NCAAs and lost. (They won it all the next year.) Tonight they play in the Frozen Four semifinals. If they win they go to the finals. In Boston Garden. Against Providence College. Fingers crossed! Pass the chips and beer. Go BU!

Dang, It’s Spring

Yesterday was opening day in DC. Other than the fact that the Nationals have a shortstop who can’t field for shit early in the season, it went well. So 0-1 means we’ll just have to settle for a 161-1 record.

I went to a get together last night at a brew pub in DC. I am slowly learning that the concept of craft beer and my enjoyment of craft beer are not in sync. I had two beers and neither did much for me. Also my inability to remember names presented itself. When you can’t remember the last name of the person who invited you you’re in seriously deep social yoghurt. So if you see me at a social event and I call you Kate and you’re female don’t take offense. I figure the odds are about 1:3 that I get your name right. Also, if you give me a fritter I am infinitely more likely to remember your name for some mysterious reason. Dr. Pavlov, phone home.

I drove home from last night’s festivities in a good mood despite the memory glitch. I proceeded to get lost and ended up somehow in Trinidad, which is a DC neighborhood not an island in the Caribbean. This does raise the interesting question: Why isn’t there a DC neighborhood named Tobago? I shouldn’t make Trinidad jokes because one of my bestest bike mechanics is from there (the island, not the city). And one of my favorite #bikedc people whose name I recently forgot is from there too (the neighborhood not the island).

I made it home under a full moon unscathed by the scary drivers on 295.

This morning it looked like I might be dealing with rain so Little Nellie got the call. She was feeling forgotten. We rode briskly as I had fresh legs from not riding on Saturday or Monday. (I am participating in the 25 Days of April riding event. It’s lonely but somebody has to do it.) I spotted a young deer, probably a yearling, trotting through a wooded neighborhood park near home. Trees here and there had blossoms. Birds were making a racket. I wore shorts and t-shirts (still layering in fear of a surprise attack from winter). The ride in was pretty damned splendid.

At Gravelly Point I stopped to help a bike commuter with a flat. He’d been riding on the rim for several hundred yards. If you are a bike commuter and do not look like Kate Upton, you should carry a tube and a pump. (Kate Upton is followed by horny men in lycra who will buy her a new bike if she has a flat or even when she doesn’t.) You might also think about buying a new tire every decade or so. Spring for the kind with a kevlar belt so you get only one or two flats every 5,000 miles. Since Little Nellie’s tires are, well, little and Mr Flat’s tires were big, I didn’t have a tube I could give him. We tried pumping up his tire but the leak was so big that the outflow from the tire exceeded the inflow from the pump. Mr Flat said he only had a half mile to go so I decided not to waste 20 minutes messing with a patch. I hope you had a nice walk, Mr. Flat.

The evening bike ride was pretty darn splendid too. I took the 14th Street bridge into DC to check out the cherry blossoms. They were not yet at peak but a worthwhile show nonetheless. After two laps of the Hains Point circuit I headed for home.

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On the way home I decided to leave the Mount Vernon Trail and take Fort Hunt Road instead. I made a left turn onto Fort Hunt interrupting a steady stream of right hand turning cars. I had no choice really. I was stuck in the intersection when the light turned red. One of the cars that I cut in front of was driven by a nice young lady who gave me the finger. It must suck to be her.

Even such rude behavior could not ruin such a lovely ride home, however. With fresh legs I rode up three hills on the way home with no difficulty at all. Spring will do that to you.