Tag: bike commuting

The Office Bike Commuting Matrix

I work in an office of about 25 to 30 people. Several of us ride our bikes to work.

As readers of this blog know, I ride to work nearly full time. I don’t ride with ice on the roads, jet lag, or unavoidable conflicts. So far this year I have ridden one of my bikes to work over 150 times.

My boss is Mohammad. He recently upgraded from a garage sale Schwinn to a Yuba Mundo cargo bike. He uses it to take his kids to school in DC. He’s an everyday commuter.

During her recovery from hip surgery, Kelly needed to get some exercise or she was going to go insane. (Not that anyone would notice.) This summer she began bike commuting. She’s currently on bike commuting hiatus but seems on the verge of starting up again.

Kirk is a fair weather bike commuter. He rides incredibly fast for a man who is retirement eligible. A few years ago a runner on the Mount Vernon Trail did a crazy Ivan maneuver (known in football as a button hook).  He turned right into Kirk’s path. There was blood and pain. He’s now fully recovered from the crash and presumably more careful.

Charlie is a once a week bike commuter. He plans his commute meticulously and avoids riding in the dark. We try not calling him a wuss.

There is a white board outside of Mohammad’s office that has news of the day for staff.  For example, at the top it tells us the day of the week because some of the staff are, well, challenged chronologically.

Every morning a conversation evolves around who rode to work. Invariably somebody complains about something. So Mohammad and Rebecca his administrative assistant cooked up the bike commuter matrix to keep tabs. She is the commissioner.

23529133352_b4ff772f33_z The commissioner adds graphics to make things interesting. That’s actually Mohammad and his kids on the Mundo in the upper right. That’s not Kelly in the lower left. A more recent picture showed Kelly being pursued by a chainsaw murderer. There have been two homicides on her route so she has suspended bike commuting until the killer(s) have been brought to justice. What a wimp.

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You either did or didn’t ride and you either did or didn’t complain. I recently was tagged for complaining (see above) after I merely observed that it was foggy. I wasn’t complaining. I was simply stating meteorological fact. Still I was recorded as complaining. I filed an appeal with the commissioner and she ruled against me. I’d appeal to a higher authority (not that there is one) but the commissioner erased that matrix the next day.

You may notice something at the bottom of the frame. It says “D.U.S.T. =   XX days.” This has nothing to do with bike commuting. DUST means Days Until Spring Training. Rebecca looked this up on the Yankees website.  I was going to protest as a member of Red Sox Nation but I felt badly. She grew up in Albany (which I can assure you is punishment enough, says this native Albanian) and hasn’t been sent for proper deprogramming yet. We’re working on it.

What This Town Needs Is Later Sunsets

And that’s exactly what we are getting. The tilt of the earth and some other astronomical BS means that, although we are still losing daylight, the sun is setting later. Don’t the gods care about symmetry, goddamit?

I mean this really messes up everything. I am firing my shaman and getting a new jungle drug. My consciousness is in retrograde.

One consequence of all this cosmic buffoonery is I am leaving for work later. Subconsciously my brain says “get ready to leave” in the morning only when a certain amount of daylight is evident. I tend to leave a few minutes later each week as a result.

Sunrise at Dyke Marsh seems to be on schedule. I leave home ten minutes before sunrise and arrive Dyke Marsh just after the sun has cleared the trees on the other side of the river. My brain says, “You’re right on schedule.”

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This trickery doesn’t seem to be affecting others though. Running Mom was heading north, back to Old Town this morning. All I saw was her back. Usually I see her front as she heads south along the trail. Swivel Light, a southbound woman bike commuter with a red blinky light on a pivot on the top of her helmet, was nearly in Old Town when I saw her. Normally I see her up at the airport, some 3 or 4 miles closer to DC.

Too bad Trump isn’t president. He’d declare war on Argentina to get our daylight back. They’d fold like a cheap suit by March.

On a somewhat more serious note:

I saw some surveyors doing measurements on and near the Dyke Marsh bridge. This bridge was damaged by several storms over the last ten years. The surface twists and turns a bit as a result. Most of the other bridges on the Mount Vernon Trail have been replaced over the last five years. This bridge and the beaver bridge (just north of the Slaters Lane turn off) are past their sell date. Let’s hope an upgrade is coming this spring.

 

 

November by the Numbers

On the whole, November turned out to be a pretty decent month. The weather was unseasonably warm, except for a few days when I froze my ass off. I rode to work 15 times. My long ride was a 55 1/2 mile cavort through DC to Bethesda and back.

The Cider Ride turned out to be quite a lot of fun. It was especially good to see so many people I knew at the afterparty at the Dew Drop Inn.

With the exception of a single commute on The Mule, I rode only two bikes this month. Little Nellie took care of the rest of the commutes. My Cross Check handled weekend duties.

For the year I now have ridden 6,908 miles. Of that, 4,556 miles were just getting to and from work. About 1/2 the commuting miles were on The Mule. A third were on Little Nellie. A sixth were on my increasingly little used Big Nellie.  Since August, practically all my fun rides have been done on my Cross Check.

I did a long solo hike near Harper’s Ferry.  The views were fantastic.

I have had very few injuries this year. A back spasm now and then. And a numb foot that is mostly trouble free these days. All the biking and hiking (plus some therapeutic conversations with friends and meditation) have rid me of the depression that dogged me last winter and spring.

Let’s see if I can finish strong and break through the 7,000 mile barrier before the snows come.

Fancy Pants Bike Parking

My office building in Rosslyn has been showing some love to bike commuters. First they removed the dim florescent bulbs in the garage and replaced them with LEDs. Now I can ride into the garage with my sunglasses on. In fact, I might even need them.

This week we got a peek at the new bike parking facility. It’s activated by the same card key security system as the rest of the building. You have to register with building management to get your card upgraded for access to the bike room. It has space for 20 bikes, 18 hanging and two on an inverted U rack on the floor. It also has a bike pump and tools.

The old bike parking was lame. (At my previous job the bike racks were the same as my elementary school’s. I went to that school in the 1960s. I am not entirely sure if the racks at my current office are any better.) A bike commuter had her Cannondale road bike stolen earlier this year. Here’s what it looked like. (That’s Little Nellie on the right.I took the pump off the frame because someone stole a similar pump off The Mule earlier this year.

Bike parkingThe new bike room is more better. Here you can see one half of the hanging bike rack and the U rack on the floor. The pump is on the lower right.

Bike Room

There was an opening day card key problem. Once they activated your card for bike room access, they deactivated it for access to the gym and showers. I’m sure they’ll get it all sorted out soon.

October by the Numbers

I didn’t cover nearly as many miles this month as last. Of course, last month I was on a plane going around the world and rattling about Australia and Asia. This month I rode 594 1/2 miles. 331 1/2 miles were aboard Little Nellie, my Bike Friday. Another 88 1/2 miles covered while riding The Mule, my 1991 Specialized Sequoia touring bike, to and from work three times. The rest of the mileage was from weekend rides aboard my new Cross Check.

I rode to work 14 times and did one 67-mile event ride, the Great Pumpkin ride.

I also did two hikes: one in Great Falls Park in Maryland, the other in Prince William Forrest Park in Virginia.

For the year, I have ridden 6,263 1/2 miles. About half that total was on The Mule. Another 2,500 miles were split between Little Nellie and Big Nellie, my Tour Easy recumbent. My Cross Check now has 541 miles on it. I’ve done 135 bike commuted for a total of 4,127 miles.

I’m trying to pace myself. Honestly.

The Sartorial Perils of Bike Commuting

Like everything else in life, bike commuting involves risks. You just don’t know what’s around the corner. It could be a runaway garbage truck, a dog off its leash, a cop with a ticket book, or any number of other dangers. One risk does not present itself until after you arrive at work: the sartorial shortage.

Over the years I have forgotten my underwear, my shirt, my belt and my socks. Today I forgot my socks. Since my biking socks were mostly black and I didn’t have any meetings to look presentable for I just used them. I didn’t have to because I have a sartorial back up plan.

I have stashed a change of clothing in my office. Since I am only going to wear this stuff once or twice a year they are not my finest threads but they’ll do in a pinch. So think ahead. You don’t want to go to that big meeting with your client. She might frown upon your lycra business shorts.

Perils of bike commuting. #forgotmysox

First Freeze for a Buff-less Wonder

I knew the cold was coming. A few days ago I foraged around the house for my cold weather gear. My favorite piece of cold weather clothing is a tube of light-weight fabric called a Buff. The damned things are remarkably versatile and they are perfect for late fall and early spring weather. They also have one annoying characteristic. They disappear like odd socks in the laundry. And so my remaining black buff was nowhere to be found.

So I ordered three of them from Buff world headquarters in ironically warm Santa Rosa, California and hoped the package gods would smile down upon me and get them here before temperatures dipped into the freezing territory.

Hope, as they say, is not a plan.

Today, buffless, I did battle with the first frost of the season. I am happy to report that I emerged victorious. No noo-noos were frozen. The only discomfort came during the first three miles from home as by body heat became trapped in the three layers I wore on my upper body. In fact, the only parts of me that remained at all uncomfortable were the lower half of my face and my neck. This is where the Buff normally does its magic.

Despite my cold face and neck, I fell into a comfortable trance on the way to work, my legs fresh from having not ridden yesterday.

Temperatures rose about 25 degrees during the day making for a more comfortable ride home. There must be something about cool dry air that allows my brain to shut down into a meditative state. Or maybe it’s just the fact that the summer nimrods (who make long stretches of my summer commutes on the Mount Vernon Trail a sort of slow-speed bike slalom) were nestled all snug in their Metrobuses.

Somewhere near the airport someone headed for DC said hello. Being in my trance the voice didn’t register in my brain for several seconds making responding politely futile.

The rest of the ride home happened. I know because when I ca22326715851_78b3e50773_zme to I was putting my bike away. Somewhere in there I lost about 45 minutes of my life. There must be a wormhole just south of the airport.

At my front door was a big envelope. Inside were my three new Buffs. This time I bought them in an array of colors so they won’t blend in with all my other black outerwear (like tights and arm warmers and gloves).

So I suppose you can say my next bike commute will be in the Buff.

More Better than February

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I pulled into home at midnight.

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

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

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

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

They Say It’s Your Earth Day

It’s my Earth Day, too, yeah.

Except I didn’t realize it was Earth Day until I got to work and saw it plastered all over the interwebs. It’s one of the interesting paradoxes of riding a bike to work every day. I don’t listen to the radio much. I’m a bit disconnected from the latest outrage or pop fad. I don’t know what music is popular either. “You’ve heard of [insert popular artist’s name here].” “Nope.”

I don’t listen to tunes or podcasts on my bike. For two reasons. If I am listening to tunes or podcasts I might not hear that bus or garbage truck that is about to roll over my two-wheeled ass.  Also, if I listen to tunes or podcasts I’ll miss out on the sounds of the critters, of the rain water gurgling down to the river, to the wind blowing through the treetops, to the self-generated breeze blowing across my ears.

Today was my 42nd bike commute of the year. I stopped to watch the sun reflecting off the river. I stopped to wonder who ate yesterday’s Canada goose carcass leaving only some feathers to remember it by.  (I learned today that bald eagles do eat dead animals so it may be that my top-of-the-food chain friends have started varying their diet away from Potomac River fish.)

Gone goose on the #MVT

I don’t ride to work to save the planet. It’s a nice little bonus but it is way down my to-do list. I ride to work because it’s fun, because it calms my mind and feeds my soul. If you think this sounds nutty then you don’t understand the bigger picture:

Teacher: What do you want to be when you grow up.

John Lennon: Happy

Teacher: You don’t understand the question.

John Lennon: You don’t understand life.

Bike to work. Be happy. Oh, and happy Earth Day to you.

Morning on the #MVT

Be Careful What You Wish For

Most of the people I know in the #bikedc world live in or near DC. Their commutes are much shorter than mine. Either on their way home or after arriving at home, they often go out to restaurants, art events, or bars. I envy them.

A friend of mine moved from Adams Morgan, in the heart of the city, to subrurban McLean last summer. Her five minute commute radicaly changed. Instead of riding down a hill to work she now had a multi-modal, expensive monstrosity to deal with. She rode her bike to the Metro, rode Metro into the city, and rode to her job. To do this she had to arrive at Metro before 7 am to take her bike on the train. On the return she had to wait until 7 pm to take her bike on the train.

She complained that she had no time to do the things (yoga, meditation, Skype, blog, etc.) that she used to do in the evenings.Then I realized she was complaining about a life that I have just accepted as normal.  My bike commute and job suck up at least 12 hours of my day. In winter, it’s worse because of all the layers of clothing that I have to put on and take off four times in a day.

So tonight I sat down to blog and realized it is already 10 am. I will be getting up in eight hours. I should be tired but I am not. After all, I have ridden nearly 90 miles since Monday. Yet I haven’t felt this good in months. A warm ride home along the river really floats my boat. It would be nice to be able to pull into Meridian Pint or the Right Proper Brewing Company on the way home for a pint of cold  ale. Then again, I saw an amazingly beautiful great blue heron on my way home tonight. He was standing in the river motionless, as if posing for me. Yes, sir, you are one beautiful work of art.

So sometimes I wish I lived and rode in the city. Mostly, as my McLean friend was once advised, I am careful what I wish for.