We had an ice storm overnight. Last winter, during the aftermath of a similar storm, I went outside to fetch the paper. After one step, I did a classic Charlie Chaplin pratfall and ended up (fortunately) in a bush next to my front door. This year I wised up and just said the paper can wait.
Last week I brought Big Nellie into the basement for just such an occasion. Also, earlier in the year I replaced the florescent light above the bike with an LED shoplight. They switched to LED lighting in the garage at work and it makes an immense difference.
So today I am riding underground. I will be multitasking with Elvis Costello’s memoir. By the end of winter, I will find it hard to read without my feet spinning.
By the way, the trike in the background is my son’s. He’s about to turn 25. Do you think he’ll mind if I take it for a spin?
Everyone who runs or walks or bikes knows that they see the world differently. Sometimes this yields a found treasure. I found a $5 bill while out running in East Providence RI one day many years ago. To a grad student $5 was serious good fortune. Since then I have found tools, a bra, gloves (usually not in pairs), blinkie lights, and other oddities. I did not take the bra home, in case you are wondering.
For the last 15 months I have been carrying a secret in my wallet. It is a $100 bill that I found on the street in front of my house one morning in September 2015. I found it along with two $20 bills. Since 20s are routine occupants of my wallet, I spent them, but the $100 bill stayed put. This isn’t my money. It probably fell out of the pants pocket of a worker on a paving crew that went through my neighborhood that week. There was no crew around this particular morning so there was no way to re-unite the money with its owner.
So I kept it. For 15 months the $100 bill has served as a reminder of what incredible good fortune I have in life. And I have felt oddly obligated to find a proper place for it ever since.
Six months before finding the money Klarence, someone whom I barely knew, came into my life out of the blue and picked me up when I was down. I am not a religious person. Nor am I prone to bouts of spiritual mumbo jumbo. Still I think of these two random events this way: God or the Universe or Fate or some other woo woo thing bigger than me is telling me how lucky I am to be healthy, to be free from need, to be loved.
As longtime readers of this blog are aware, I know of a disturbing number of people who have been hit by motor vehicles. One is Mrs. Rootchopper, who, like perhaps a dozen other friends of mine, survived the ordeal with months of painful recovery. Another person, the best friend of a friend of mine, was not so fortunate.
And then, last week, it happened again. This time to Rosemarie Cruz, a mother of four. She was struck and killed by a driver who “failed to yield to a pedestrian.” What a dispassionate way of saying that the driver ran her over.
I didn’t know Ms. Cruz, but ever since I heard about her I’ve thought of that the $100 bill I found in the street. I believe it has finally found its purpose. I am swinging by the Del Ray fundraiser, Rally for Rose, Tuesday night so I can donate the money to the support of her daughters. (The fundraiser link above has a link to an account for donations.)
Now here’s what you can do. Make a resolution in 2017. If you find money during your self propelled adventures, set it aside. Then, when the moment is right, donate it to someone less fortunate than you. It won’t be all that much, but you never know what happens when you throw a few pebbles in the water.
After 150 miles of cold bike commuting, I was going to take the day off. I lazed around the house until I couldn’t stand my boredom. Then I remembered that the Washington Area Bicyclists Association was doing some sore of work at Jones Point Park, about 5 1/2 miles from my house. I decided to go there and lend a hand.
I rode Deets, my Surly Cross Check. It was the first time in two or three weeks. Without loaded panniers, I cruised along at 3 miles per hour faster than The Mule. I felt like I was flying.
There was some ice on the edges of the river. Yes, it’s really winter now. Temperatures were just a bit above freezing. I pedaled along with little effort. When I arrived at Jones Point Park, there was nobody there. I checked social media and learned that WABA had plenty of help and made fast work of their project.
So I decided to cruise through Old Town looking for stocking stuffers for the ladies of the house. I spotted a vintage fire engine in front of a fire house. When I went to take a picture I saw that Santa and an elf were posing with kids.
After that I made my way to the farmers’ market at City Hall. The vendors were packing up for the day. I noticed a harpist bundled against the cold. From the looks of her donations box, it had not been a particularly fruitful morning. I tried to engage her in conversation but she had on her cloak of introversion. I left her a dollar and rode off.
I made it to the new outpost of the Italian Store on East Wythe Street. Word of m
outh says that this place makes awesome sandwiches. I had to walk down the street and up the next to find something to lock my bike. Then I walked back to the store. Inside I found that there was no seating, only chairs on the patio. Not wanting to freeze I decided to come back in the spring when I can get a sandwich to eat outside.
I made my way back towards home. Old Town was not at all crowded. I took the Wilkes Street tunnel for the first time in over a year. Something about it is inviting.
I had about 6 1/2 miles to go. With 4 miles left my toes started to ache from the chill. Instead of focusing on my toes, I thought about how I could modify my toe clips with some neoprene toe warmers. Maybe I can use zip ties to attach a toe warmer to the cage. Hmm…..
I thought today was the latest sunrise of the year but I got it wrong. We’ve reached the earliest sunset. Sunrises get later until the end of the year. Yeah well. Here’s the picture I took of The Mule at Dyke Marsh on the Mount Vernon Trail.
On the ride home, I nearly hit 5 ninjas – walkers and runners wearing absolutely no reflective or light colored clothing. In addition to it being too dark to see them, they are also backlit by car headlights.Good luck you clueless ninjas. I hope I don’t hurt myself when I clobber one of you.
I went to Friday Coffee Club for the first time since March yesterday. Friday Coffee Club is a gathering a bike commuters in DC. Friday Coffee Club embodies why I love living in DC. It has so many interesting people from so many different walks of life. In it’s early days, a number of attendees were 20-s0mething women, some in grad school, some just getting started in the workaday world. Laura was one of them.
When I first met her, Laura was a working graphic artist. This led somehow to a job as a vice president at an Internet-based marketing firm. The grind ultimately left her ground down. Six months ago she threw in the towel on office life and made the rather brave jump to becoming a full-time artist.
Today she had some of her works on exhibit at Latela gallery in the Brookland Art Walk. Mrs. Rootchopper, our daughter, and I drove up to DC to check it out.
Laura – Infinitely more talented than your average Rootchopper
I haven’t seen Laura in many months but she, with her green highlighted hair, welcomed me with open arms. (Why didn’t I take a picture? I am a moron. The picture on the right is from her website.)
We talked about her work, how she has to balance her artistic muse with commercial concerns. Marketing. Websites. Balancing what formats sell with the cost of investing in materials and equipment. Being an artist is a lot more complicated than I realized.
Laura is obviously so talented. I don’t have the artist’s gene so I am in awe of anybody who can create like she can. More importantly, she seems pretty happy.
In addition to artworks she makes of her own choosing, Laura creates works on commission. Do you have a mute wall that needs to speak? Is a friend or family member getting married or moving into a new place? Check out Laura’s website for details.
Bri writes a blog about winter bike commuting in rural upstate New York. It’s the snow belt and it gets fiercely cold. She looks forward to winter. Bri is a few spokes shy of a wheel.
Bri makes me feel like a wimp.
On Saturday afternoon a cold front came through. The wind howled and howled on Sunday. I was not looking forward to riding into that gale this morning.
When I fetched the newspaper from the driveway the winds were light-ish and the residual warmth from my PJs kept me comfortable. An hour or so later I stepped outside to ride the Mule to work.
Dang. It was cold. And it was colder still once I got underway and rode with a wind out of ten o’clock for the first 11 miles. I knew it was blowing hard when I took the Park Terrace downhill. I normally reach 32 miles per hour. Today I could only make 27.
There were no photos today. Just put your head down and pedal at a depressingly slow speed.
At Gravelly Point the trail turns to the east for 100 yards. Relief! Then when it takes a 90 degree turn to the north the crosswind nearly blew me off the path.
I managed to make it to work in about 90 minutes. About 15 minutes slower than normal.
The ride home was revenge. I had a strong tailwind the whole way. I saw a friend (I think) who hates cold weather riding toward me on a bikeshare bike near the Humpback Bridge across from the Jefferson Memorial. She had on a black parka with a hood drawn tight around her head. It framed her face. Her jaw was set and her normally joyful demeanor was locked somewhere between determined and miserable.
The rest of the ride home was not half bad. It made up for the craptastic morning commute.
More of the same tomorrow, minus about 5 or 10 degrees.
I was riding home as usual on the Mount Vernon Trail. In Old Town Alexandria the trail merges with a bike lane on Union Street. At 426 North Union I left the bike lane to avoid the rear of a car parked perpedicular to the curb. Then I came to a full stop at two stop signs. Then I approached the busy interesection with King Street.
I came to a full stop at the stop sign as two pedestrians slowly crossed the street in the crosswalk in front of me. Take. Your. Time. People.
Then I crossed King. Just beyond the next crosswalk a car was parked illegally blocking the right lane. My lane. It had its flashers on (making it clear to anyone who might care that he was parking illegally) and its white back up lights were illuminated. I approached with extreme care not knowing what the driver was going to do. Cars were legally parked at the curb in front of the Starbucks across from the illegal car. Two cars were coming toward me. Their headlights were shining directly in my eyes. Because of the illegally parked car I had only a few feet of roadway to use.
As I passed the illegal car, I turned to look at the driver. The headlight on my helmet lit up his face and hands as he played with the cellphone in his hand. Typical.
I turned my head forward and there was a pedestrian. Mid block. Dressed in dark clothing. About one foot in front of my front tire. She was holding a Starbucks cup. She shrieked and quickstepped. I have no idea how I did not hit her.
Starbucks addicts do this sort of thing routinely at King and Union. Mrs. Rootchopper told me last night that about a mile away Starbucks addicts dash across the street in mid block during rush hour to get their caffeine fix at a Starbucks on North Washington Street, a major commuting route for cars and buses.
Yesterday I drove to work for the first time in weeks. I honestly don’t know why anyone would want to use driving a car as a way to get to work. (I understand that many people have no viable option in the short term.) I was STRESSED OUT!!!!
On the way in, the waiting and merging and sudden stopping were an assault on my central nervous system. I played relaxing music (Mark Knopfler and Chet Atkins) and this helped some but not nearly enough. They should have meditation rooms in the parking garages around here. Seriously. So you can come down before you go into the office and start throwing coffee cups around.
The ride home had its joys too. Driving in the dark is no fun at all. And the 15 minute back up on I-395 felt like it would never ever end. No wonder this country has a depression and anxiety epidemic. I seriously thought about opening a bottle of wine when I got home. Instead I started my evening with 20 minutes of breathing meditation. I followed this up with my daily physical therapy. Instead of rushing through the exercises (most of which are based on yoga asanas) as I too often do, I slowed them way down. I took care paying attention to each stretch, making sure the muscles relaxed. I monitored my breathing. The whole wind down took about 45 minutes.
One thing I notice when I do breathing meditation is that I can get my heart and respiratory rates very low. My doctors are constantly freaked when they take my pulse. The last couple of times it was checked it was 44. “Do you exercise?” A couple of years ago my resting pulse was around 60. That’s considered on the low side for most people. My low pulse is also a little odd when you consider I drink three cups of coffee every day.
This morning I jumped on The Mule with fresh legs (and a disturbingly bigger belly from last week’s Mexican food binge). The cold air felt so refreshing. And riding past the stalled traffic back up on the GW Parkway made me feel liberated. I truly felt sorry for all those people grinding their teeth and white knucking their steering wheels.
Of course, I also had the opportunity to stop and admire the early morning sun over the Potomac River. Most drivers don’t get to see this. Sucks for them.
If you look closely you can see that my pedals don’t match. This is a hold over from my bike tour this summer when my left pedal disintegrated. What you can’t see is that the chain is stretched beyond hope. So I am getting a new chain and cassette this weekend.
I mentioned the cold. As you can see from the picture, the bridges on the Mount Vernon Trail are decked with wood. They frost over. Shaded areas are icy. As I was approaching the beaver bridge (between Old Town and National Airport), an approaching jogger yelled a warning to me, “The bridge is really slippery.” It was slippery on the left hand side (where she had run) but not along the right edge. The left side was still in the shade. Just a couple of degrees makes all the difference. There were fresh gashes in the wood from where bicyclists’ pedals had made a mark during falls.
In a few days a cold front comes through with honest to god wintery weather. The battle begins. The holey sweater awaits. The mittens are ready. The chemical foot warmers are beside my shoes. My hair (what little there is) will stand on end as the head coverings draw all the oil out of it. My skin will dry up where the base layers and Buff and wool socks contact it.
I went for a ride on my Cross Check today. Yesterday’s ride on Big Nellie, my recumbent, was unnerving. It was as if I had not ridden it before. I had a feeling I was going to get run over for the entire time I rode.
The Cross Check has a new drive train so I had to make sure it was functioning properly. I am happy to report that Sean at Spokes Etc. in Belle View did fine job. I probably should have told him to put on new bar tape and new brake pads but when he told me he’d change my chain and cassette while I waited I didn’t want to upset my karma.
Today I went with the flow. I rode the Mount Vernon Trail with its downed leaves. The trees at Dyke Marsh were bare. It was a sad sight, one that I will have to get used to for four or five months.
As I passed the golf course I saw a big bald eagle perched in the nest tree. I have been seeing him regularly for a couple of weeks. In the shallows of the river, there were many, many egrets and herons. They must be heading south.
It was in the low 50s. I was in denial. I didn’t wear wool socks. My feet are still cold four hours after I came inside.
I rode over the Woodrow Wilson Bridge because I, like Chuck Berry, had no particular place to go. The expansion joints are really bad. I am glad I don’t have a skinny-tired road bike.
I rode up to Oxon Hill Road then blew through a construction site because there was no accommodation for bike and pedestrians except the other side of a six lane road that I was in no mood to cross twice.
Back down to the Potomac River past the monstrosity of a casino that is being finished. I was going about 30 miles per hour and taking it easy. This is a great hill to ride down but it will be traffic hell soon when the casino opens. They better have some good concerts there because nothing else about it is appealing to me.
Once back in Virginia I rode to the north end of Old Town. Then I reversed course and rode back home. What an exciting trip.
Aside from my feet I was comfortably warm. The streets are double track with leaves on the sides and down the middle. It’s actually quite pretty.
I managed to make it home without any near death experiences. That’s a pretty low bar when you think about it.
I know that I am feeling a little antsy after the election. I imagine a lot of other people are too. So I am trying my best to be civil to people who do stupid things on the road. It helps to wear lobster gloves. Nobody can tell when you are flipping them off.
When you add the election to the other brain squirrels I have, you get a real psychiatric menagerie upstairs. Thank god for bike rides.
Do you remember when we were all saying, I can’t wait until the election is over? Be careful what you wish for.
I spent most of it in Silicon Valley and San Francisco without a bike. My business trip included looking at flexible shared office space, a two-day meeting with futurists, a look see at driverless vehicles, and a demo of virtual reality.
The futurist meeting was pretty interesting because we were developing a sort of cultural business forecast when we were set upon by a yooge black swan. We were all thankful that we had lots of work to do on Wednesday.
On the way to dinner we found ourselves behind a driverless Google car. It looked pretty normal. It even cussed out a pedestrian in the crosswalk. (This was very advanced technology.)
Google Driverless Car
We also browsed in a shop with the latest toys made from tech equipment including a bike helmet with head and taillights, brake lights, and turn signals. The was clearly meant for use in an urban environment. I like the concept but I ride on unlit trails so I need a heck of a lot more forward looking candlepower.
I also saw a device that looked a bit like a narrow black visor. It wraps around your head and sends signals to your brain to improve your meditation experience. Or so they say. Seems to me a mantra or a candle is cheaper but what do I know? If you need this product, you have issues. Just sayin.’
I think the technology behind these sorts of things is fascinating, but I walked out of the shop thinking, “Why does anybody think they need this stuff?” If the economy depended on my spending habits, unemployment would be 75%.
The virtual reality demo would probably get a gamer all worked up. I tried it out and was impressed that it didn’t make me hurl. One of my colleagues was doing the demo with someone in the next room over. Their virtual hands touched. She says she faintly felt the touch on her actual hand. It turns out that virtual reality is useful for helping amputees cope with their situation. Brains are so cool.
Virtual Reality Demo
Even our rental car had odd tech on it. The engine would shut off at traffic lights then restart when the gas pedal was depressed. This drove us all nuts. I wonder how many starter motors this car will go through?
Wherever we walked we could see people typing away on laptops in offices, shared spaces, coffee shops. It seemed all rather dystopian to me. California is a foreign country.
Between meetings on Wednesday and Thursday I read Tweets of despair from my DC-based friends. More than 90% of DC voters backed Clinton. Their tweets were the “OOF” from a punch in the existential gut.
Here’s my take on the election: Certain things don’t need to be written in the rulebook. When a baseball player comes to the plate, it is assumed he is not going to assault the plate umpire with his bat. There is no rule covering this.
For elections, you should be able to assume that candidates will not be human pond scum. Apparently, not. I lived through Nixon. I saw George Wallace’s mean spirited speeches. This is worse. I don’t care how disenfranchised people feel, using the ballot box to validate hatred is unacceptable. Pandora’s box of bigotry has been opened. I hope we figure out how to close it and burn it to ashes. Quickly.
I got back home at 11:30 last night. Today, I took Deets in for a new chain and cassette. The old one had nearly over 3,500 miles on it. Then I took Big Nellie out for a nice, meditative spin. I was focused on not getting killed. Breath in live, breath out die. So relaxing!
I managed to avoid about ten cars being driven randomly on Union Street in Old Town. (Look Martha! There’s a parking space!!!) Fortunately the only police officer around was busy lecturing a bicyclist so he missed all the death defying fun.
In San Francisco Parking Signs Are Helpful
My ride took me to the Lincoln Memorial. All was calm. Then I rode a tailwind home by way of the vast and empty Pentagon North parking lot, Crystal City, Potomac Yards and Old Town.
in September 2015. I found it along with two $20 bills. Since 20s are routine occupants of my wallet, I spent them, but the $100 bill stayed put. This isn’t my money. It probably fell out of the pants pocket of a worker on a paving crew that went through my neighborhood that week. There was no crew around this particular morning so there was no way to re-unite the money with its owner.
a dispassionate way of saying that the driver ran her over.
A Few Spokes Shy of a Wheel 