Tag: #bikedc

Stockholm Syndrome Gone Awry

As I noted a few days ago, based on personal observationi (and not actually riding) riding a bike in Stockholm is a stress-free pleasure. All road users have their own lane and everybody follows the rules. Nobody rides hell for leather when commuting. The pace is civilized, around 8 -12 miles per hour. I decided to bring Stockholm biking behavior to my DC riding to see if it would work.

  • Riding home from the Nats game Sunday night was an adventure to say the least. As I left the bike valet at the ball park, I was waved into a mob of pedestrians by a traffic control person. I complied but had to ride a weird “S” to avoid hitting anybody.
  • I rode to I Street to take the bike lane west. I managed to get about a block before cars preparing to make a right turn on South Capitol Street clogged the lane. Blocking the bike lane was unnecessary, of course, because there is a right turn lane to the right of the bike lane and the turn lane was empty. To add to the mess, none of the cars that were turning into and across the bike lane had their turn signals on. I suppose the people on bikes in the bike lane were supposed to read the drivers minds.
  • At South Capitol I was about to ride through on the green when I had to stop. A black SUV had intruded on the crosswalk to my left. To allow pedestrians to use the crosswalk, the traffic control person waved the SUV through on a red light without looking to see if there was anyone (like me) in the intersection behind her.
  • A few blocks later a car stopped to make a left turn. The car behind swerved into the bike lane without signalling. I managed to avoid getting hit. See why we need protected bike lanes?
  • About a half mile further on I came to a red light on Maine Avenue at 9th Street. I moved to the left of the left lane and signalled that I would be taking a left turn. The next left turn was about 100 yards ahead. I managed to get 50 yards before the SUV driver behind me became impatient and roared past within inches of my right arm. Despite trying my best to ride like a calm and courteous Swede, I raised my right hand and gave him the bird. Fail. I must try and be more mindful of my Swedishness. For all the driver’s troubles, he made it about 75 yards before he became stopped in traffic again.
  • I turned left and took the sidewalk which is part of the Anacostia River Trail system. The sidewalk was filled with meandering pedestrians. None of them bothered to keep to the right. Toddlers were walking randomly among the adults so it was impossible to pass. Once they finally stepped out of the way I came upon five large young men walking, no, swaggering,  five-abreast across the trail. A thought crossed my mind that I might be mugged. At the very last second, they stepped aside. Macho sidewalk men. Not Swedish.
  • Once free of the wonderfulness of everyday cycling in DC, I was treated to a tailwind on the Mount Vernon Trail. Just south of the bridges into DC, an attractive young woman was riding toward me. The young man behind her pulled out and rode slowly past her, checking her out in the process. Of course, what he wasn’t checking out was the fact that he was about to be in a head-on collision with me. I yelled. He swerved out of the way.
  • On a beautiful spring evening families were hanging out at Gravelley Point. Kids, from three to six, were wandering about, stepping in front of passing bicyclists. Parents paid no attention. A group of four adults stood in the middle of the path watching the planes taking off. Bicyclists were forced to go all over the place to avoid them. The fact that there was ample space on the lawn for them to stand somehow seemed to escape their awareness.
  • This morning, on the Mount Vernon Trail, all was calm. I was enjoying the ride as I rode up the second of two fly-over bridges at National Airport when a cyclist in a black t-shirt came zooming by. The bridge is curved so he couldn’t see the oncoming trail traffic. To avoid a collision he swerved to the right as he passed me, nearly clipping my front wheel.

And so it goes. You can try to ride safely around here, but you almost surely will find yourself in harms way. No wonder nobody follows the rules.

I’ll keep trying to be civil like a Swede. Let’s see if it doesn’t put me in the ER.

Riding in the City – Scandinavian Style

I just spent two weeks in Scandinavia. The itinerary was Stockholm – Oslo – Copenhagen – Malmo – Copenhagen – Stockholm – Reykjavik. In each city, cycling was an unremarkable, no-drama part of life. With the exception of Copenhagen which can be a bit hectic, there was no honking of horns, no cussing, no bird-flipping, no road rage. The food chain is the reverse of the US: pedestrians come first, then bikes, then transit, then cars.

Gas costs upwards of $6 per gallon making for few cars, most of them compacts and subcompacts (except in Iceland where big, offroading vehicles are more common). Except for Reykjavik, transit goes everywhere with incredibly high frequency. And it is integrated in the sense that buses and metros and ferries and commuter trains and intercity trains and high speed trains to the airport all can be connected to without leaving one system for another. In both Stockholm and Copenhagen we bought a single transit card that allowed us access to most local transportation. (The exceptions being the every-ten-minutes high speed train to the airport in Stockholm and the train from Copenhagen to Malmo across the Baltic Strait.)

Bikes were allowed on metro and commuter rail. In Stockholm, each commuter train had at least one bike car (with racks to hold the bikes). In Copenhagen, bike parking at the central train station was absurdly abundant and stuffed to the gills with bikes. The racks were double decked and every other bike slot was offset so that handlebars didn’t clash.

I saw bike share systems in Stockholm, Copenhagen, and Oslo.

Copenhagen has the reputation for the best biking city in Scandinavia, but I’ll take Stockholm’s system any day. Copenhagen’s bike traffic is insanely busy. Car traffic is heavier than Stockholm, too.

One thing that surprised me a bit was the fact that about 1/2 the Stockholm rush hour commuters were wearing helmets.

Each mode – pedestrian, bicycle, car, train – had separate traffic signals and separate lanes. Everyone obeyed the rules scrupulously. Pedestrians didn’t look both ways when crossing the street. They just crossed with absolute confidence without the slightest concern about getting hit by a bike or a car or a train. Kids learn to ride in this environment and are much more competent and confident than US kids of the same age. Cyclists give way to pedestrians.

Nearly all bike commuters wore street clothes. Most commuters rode upright bikes with platform pedals and baskets on the front. Bike commuters seemed to go no faster than 10 miles per hour. Slow bikes kept to the right. After work, the lycra crowd showed up.

It is so frustrating coming back to DC and seeing tweet after tweet describing car/bike conflicts, harassment of women cyclists, and horrific stories of cars mowing down cyclists. I wish every state and local DOT head, every mayor, every governor would go to Stockholm and see what I saw: a graceful flow of traffic. No anger. No stress.

 

26651356254_5bcac7f91a_m
Stockholm Mode Separation
27127466460_c4196ab26e_m
Me in Front of Just a Few of the Copenhagen Central Station Bike Racks

 

Postal Bike in Roskilde Denmark
Postal Delivery Vehicle in Roskilde, Denmark
Stockholm City Bike.JPG
Stockholm City Bike (Bike Share)
Bike Channel on Stairs.JPG
Bike Tracks on Stairs to Copenhagen Metro

It’s Iconic – DC Bike Ride

Today was the first DC Bike Ride. This closed streets ride is the successor to Bike DC, an event I did several times in the past. They changed the name because Bike DC had a weather hex on it. The ruse did not work.

The course meanders through the erstwhile swampy bits of DC before heading over toward the Pentagon on the HOV lanes on I 395.  The ride costs about 50 bucks for 17 miles so if you were looking for a bargain, this wasn’t it. But it was an opportunity to show people in this area that you support bicycling in DC, even if it means pruney hands.

With temperatures in the 50s and a steady light rain, 8,000 folks gathered on Pennsylvania Avenue. I spotted the #bikeMVT contingent consisting of Linel, Amber, Ed, and Reba. We were later joined by Sam and her mom, Joanne.

Cathy Plume stopped by. Sam, Cathy, and I participated in the protest that completed the installation of u-turn barriers on the Pennsylvania cycletrack last summer.

An announcer came on to give us useful information about all the iconic things we would see on the iconic streets in this iconic city. Somebody shut this guy’s iconic piehole, please!

Soon the announcements were over and the 14 mph group waddle to the starting line. One waddler fell over and his shoe stayed stuck to his pedal. It looked embarrassing and utterly pathetic.

Off we rode. At a brisk 10 mph. We rode into Southwest wear we could see iconic rain. We rode with great enthusiasm (which made up for our lack of speed). Over to Foggy Bottom which seemed aptly named. We made our way to the iconic Whitehurst Freeway. The route seemed to fold back on itself. It also seemed to avoid National Park Service roads, simplifying the clearances needed to put on the ride.

DSCN4937
Iconic Rain and Crane

We turned around at the Key Bridge and retraced our route until we crossed the Mall at 14th Street. Just past D Street we could see a minor problem. The early wave of riders were on hold as the last wave of riders cleared the ramp to Maine Ave.

Continuing on 14th,  we rode across the iconic Potomac River, near the site of the iconic Air Florida crash. Onward past the iconic Pentagon until we did an iconic U-turn and headed back to DC. On the way, I spotted Nelle (now there’s an icon!) from WABA waving like a maniac. Or perhaps she was pointing out an iconic jersey barrier. I also saw Ultrarunnergirl who fortunately seemed not to be water soluble. Ultrarunnergirl was finishing being best bike buddy of the Big Bike Weekend. I saw her on Bike to Work Day riding south on the Mount Vernon Trail. She rode to Huntington, probably 12 miles past her office, to escort her friend Yolanda on Yolanda’s first bike commute. After the ride, I chatted with them. Yes, she also rode with Yolanda during today’s ride.

We continued on, finally riding around 14 mph. Wheee. Then we turned on to Pennsylvania Avenue. Kathy Lewis waved us in to the finish line.

I rode to the after party which had no signage for bike parking. Erp.

There I hung out with Chris, who volunteered like a maniac all weekend. I met Chris on the first Cider Ride in 2013. I talked to a whole bunch of people, the decided to head back to my car which I had parked at Gravelly Point in Virginia.

WABA walked off with $38,000 from this event. And raised tons of awareness about Vision Zero. Not bad for a truly crummy day of weather.

All things considered DC Bike Ride seemed to be a smashing success. Perhaps next year it will even be iconic.

I stashed a whole bunch of Flickr pix here.

Thanks to the staff people at WABA and the volunteers for all the work you did on this event. Also, thanks to the EMTs and police that stood out in the rain to get us through the event safely.

 

 

Bike to Work Day 2016

I did not feel very good when I woke up but I decided to ride to work anyway. It was Bike to Work Day, after all. Slowly.

I poked along, coughing fits one mile, calm breathing the next. I rolled into the Alexandria Pir Stop at City Hall Plaza in Old Town. I saw Reba, Ed #1, and Kathy chatting and took their picture. Jonathan was reading off raffle winners. And Reba won something, something

26853838620_69404e4fd0_m
Ed, Reba, and Kathy
Monaco. Holy cow! Then we heard him repeat the prize:  one night at the Hotel Monaco in Old Town. So Reba’s dreams of being a Bond girl went up in smoke. Truth be told, it’s a pretty darn nice prize.

Onward to Rosslyn. I was a bit surprised that the bike commuter traffic was so normal. Then at the north end of Old Town, I convoy of women on bikes, suspiciously without panniers or backpacks made a turn across my path. I followed them. In the course of a short conversation with one of the riders, I learned it was a tour group of ten women, aged 50 and above, who started riding in St. Augustine, Florida. They were taking a couple of rest days to see the DC sights before continuing on: destination Bar Harbor, Maine. They were traveling with a company called Women Tours.

DSCN4881
Bike Train to Maine
Soon they left me behind and I continued northward. On one of the flyover bridges at National Airport an on coming cyclists caught my eye. Short blazing red hair and distinctive panniers with a pattern on them and pronounced handles sticking straight up. It was Ultrarunnergirl, who never seems to come to Virginia on her bike. I started waving like and idiot and she went to give me a high five but, me having absolutely no cool, didn’t even make a decent attempt.

Fail.

On I rode to Rosslyn as the volume of bike commuters picked up (i.e. blew by me). Two Lance Mamilots came roaring down the trail swerving among the bike commuters, many of whom may have been first timers. My only words to the Lances is that you are self absorb asses and it’s riders like you that put off people who want to ride to work safely.

I somehow made it up the Rosslyn hill into the Rosslyn pit stop. There I ran I

27095751436_ff0b59233c_m
Nelle
nto WABA‘s Nelle (she’s the awesome Deputy Director) and ever jovial Dana who gave me my BTWD shirt. I won a water bottle then grabbed another from a couple of other tables. One was from Bruce Deming who specializes in personal injury cases involving bicyclists. I talked about two cases involving contributory negligence, one that allowed the victim to make a claim, the other (a fatality) that left the victim’s survivors with nothing but memories.

I had three cups of Java Shack coffee, the first coffee I had had since Sunday. They made me feel euphoric. I rode the sidewalk to the office and in my hyper attentive state avoided being hit by a red light runner at 19th and Lynn. I yelled at him to no avail.

The bike room at work had 2 bikes when I arrived. Lame. Two co-workers came in a few minutes later, but didn’t sign up for Bike to Work Day. Seriously. If free and convenient is not enough, I don’t know what is.

At 11 am the coffee wore off and I powered down like the robot on Lost in Space. Thud. Another cup had little effect. Lunch revived me somewhat and, after work, I headed to NE DC to pick up my packet for Sunday’s DC Bike Ride. I met Ed #1 again. He gets around. Then Nelle, again. We’ve run into each other four times in the last two weeks. People are starting to talk. (“Nelle, who is that creepy old dude?” People can be mean.)

I ran into Charmaine who I haven’t seen since our North Carolina bike adventure two years ago. We sat and chatted for over a half hour allowing me to recover from the 18 or so miles I had already ridden.

I also briefly ran into Ed #2, and Ted and Jean, who are Friday Coffee Clubbers.

I had a token for a free beer but nobody wanted it, even a stranger I approached. All my beer drinking #bikedc friends were probably at BTWD happy hours.

I left at 6:30 headed for home, deliberately going so slow I was annoying myself. I made it home after 8 pm through dozens of clouds of midges. I was covered with the darn things.

Tomorrow I get up and work the East Beer booth at the Tour de Fat event. Unfortunately the weather forecast calls for rain. I will do my best to present a cheery face. Instead of riding to the event, I’ll be driving to my wife’s office a mile away and ride from there.

Super big thanks to all the people who got up early and worked on behalf of #bikedc. You done good. Special thanks to Nelle who put in a monster day, working two events.

 

 

 

 

 

Yet Another Reason Why I Bike to Work

I love spring around here. This was taken about a mile from work on the Mount Vernon Trail along the Potomac River. This little guy was the only gosling. Yesterday, we saw seven in one gaggle. Mom and Dad were staying very close by. I was surprised that they let me get close enough for a smartphone picture. On the way home one of the adult geese was trying to scare passing bicyclists away by waddling to the edge of the trail and opening its mouth in a threatening manner. No noise came out. It was rather pathetic. A few seconds after I survived this fierce “attack” a young woman rode by and turned to me laughing and said: “That mama goose came after me!!!” Wanna bet she keeps bike commuting?

26638983830_dd5289a038_z

There Is No I in This Nelle

There’s Big Nellie. There’s Little Nellie. Then there’s Nelle. No big. No little. All awesome.

Nelle tweeted that she was riding to Jones Point Park to check out the Washington Area Bicyclist Association’s bike class for adults. I’d was looking for an excuse to go for a short ride so I thought I check this out.

I rode to the Park. The bike class is held underneath the Woodrow Wilson Bridge. It’s a paved parking lot that nobody uses for parking. Seeing as how you can’t park there, you might just as well learn stuff there. There are sword fighting classes, intense fitness classes, little kids’ bike classes, and, now, bike classes for grown ups.

The bridge is about 5 – 5 1/2 miles from my house. When I was about 100 yards away, I realized that I had left my lock at home. I swung by the class to check it out. Nelle wasn’t there and the instructors were much to busy getting their students set up to ride, so I figured I’d go back home. I took a hilly route just for variety’s sake. The 10 1/2 round trip was uneventful. It would have been eventful but for the fact that I biked past my friend Lisa who was walking a dog near Belle Haven Park.

Once back at the class I found Nelle who was talking to WABA member named Dave. Dave supports the classes out of enlightened self interest.  He figures that the more people we get riding in Alexandria (the city abutting the park and Dave’s town of residence), the better biking will be for everyone in Alexandria, Dave included.

Jason also showed up. He’s a former WABA trail ranger who had ridden down from North Arlington. After talking a while, Nelle got the idea of riding back to DC by way of the Wilson Bridge. Jason and I decided to ride with her.

We crossed the bridge on the busy side path. On the Maryland side we enjoyed riding the corkscrew trail down to the river’s edge. We took a left up Harborside Avenue and began the long ride up to Oxon HIll Road. I had plenty of time to check out the new casino being built. It’s huge. I said the ride was up a long hill but Nelle didn’t seem to notice. She was nice enough to wait for Jason who was not far behind and me who was waaaaaay behind.

Apparently, this hill is Oxon Hill because the road at the top is called Oxon Hill Road. Recently MDOT completely redid Oxon Hill Road so I led a tour of the improvements. Prior to these changes Oxon Hill Road was a lousy place to ride a bike. No bike lanes, broken pavement, heavy traffic going too fast, etc. Now there are bike lanes, sometimes protected from other traffic by an island. Also there were three roundabouts which did a nifty job of calming traffic. I took Nelle and Jason to near the start of the Matthew Henson Trail. This paved trail goes through the woods and some fields. It doesn’t seem to connect to much but thought it would be good for Nelle to know where it was in case she encountered it at work somehow.

We took Fort Foote Road back about half way to where we started on Oxon Hill Road. It’s an uninspiring suburban street that has much less traffic that Oxon Hill Road. Nelle was interested in Fort Foote but I checked it out and there’s nothing much to see anymore.

Back on Oxon Hill Road we headed for Oxon Hill Farm. The bike connection to the farm requires some idiotic sidewalk riding but being idiots we found it easy to navigate. The route through the farm goes down a steep, bumpy, windy road. There are deer and wild turkey in the woods along the descent but not today. We hooked up with Oxon Hill Farm Trail and rode it along Oxon Cove. At the bridge over Oxon Creek we stopped so that Nelle could eat one of her anabolic steroid chews. She said it was a chewy candy snack. After seeing her fly up Harborview Avenue, I have my doubts.

DSCN4864_1274.JPGWe checked out some Canada geese goslings and a swimming snake in the creek then headed into the corner of SE DC. Here near the police academy we admired the creepy Guns to Ploughshares sculpture, made from guns that DC police had taken off the streets back in the days when DC was the murder capital of the US. Chris Roell who runs the weekly BicycleSpace ride in Anacostia appeared out of nowhere to tell us about the sculpture and Anacostia. He explained that the sculpture was once located in downtown DC. Just the thing for tourists, right. DC thought better of it and moved it to its current location. We thanked Chris and his riding partner Sara (I think. My fusiform gyrus is still messed up.) and headed on to Anacostia.

We climbed a steep hill to Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard. I climbed it. Jason rode up it numbly. Nelle took it like it wasn’t there. (Sugar candies, my ass.)

Once on MLK we rode through depressingly down trodden neighborhoods. There was plenty of car and bus traffic and a bumpy road surface just to keep things interesting. At one point Nelle got impatient with a car that was blocking her way. She hopped off her bike, picked the car up, and tossed it aside. Sugar candies. (Okay, I made that up.)

We crossed over the 11th Street Bridge and stayed on 11th through Capitol Hill. Mass Ave to us to a little grocery store where we bought cookies. Jason bought a black and white. I bought a chocolate chip. Nelle bought a BALCO sugar cookie. (Would I lie?)

Nelle led us through Columbus Circle in front of Union Station. What an insane mess of traffic. Our reward was the 1st Street cycletrack, a protected two-way bike lane painted lime green. The cycletrack took us to the Metropolitan Branch Trail. Once on the MBT the BALCO cookie must have been metabolized and Nelle flew up the trail. She confessed earlier that she is worried that she might not be in good enough shape to do the four day Climate Ride from New York City to DC in September. Not gonna be a problem lady.

At R Street Nelle continued on the MBT while Jason and I headed across town on the R Street bike lane. At 15th I said goodbye to Jason and headed up the cycletrack to Meridian Hill Park. This involved another tough climb. I was rewarded with a park bench and a sammich I bought back at the cookie stop. The park was packed with people. Usually people are playing frisbee, using hula hoops, doing acroyoga, slacklining and such. Today people were sitting around chatting, reading or just catching some rays.

After eating I headed down 16th Street to the White House, then around the Treasury Building, passed the Washington Monument and the Jefferson Memorial and over the Potomac River on the 14th Street Bridge.

The weather was perfect but for a strong gusty wind and so much pollen that my eyes felt like they were filled with sand. Once across the river, the wind was at my back. I had a nice push for the last 12 miles home.

So my short ride turned out to be 59 hilly, windy miles. Thanks to Jason for the company. Thanks to Nelle, who despite many opportunities to do so, did not drop me. Proving there is no I in this Nelle.

Here are some more pix.

 

 

 

Beer Truck Wake

Earlier this year I rode to work on a day with rain and coastal flooding. The Mount Vernon Trail was under several inches of water in spots. The flooding was so extensive that the only alternatives were to turn around or ride through. I rode through. The water came over the tops of my GoreTex boots and soaked my feet. My wool socks kept my feet warm enough but they started to go numb during the last mile on the ride to work.

It has been raining here for several days. As I rode across the Dyke Marsh bridge, where I often take sunrise pictures, I could see the river had risen to almost even with the bridge decking. On the north side of the bridge I could see water on both sides of the trail. Unlike earlier this year, I was riding Little Nellie, my Bike Friday with little wheels.

No guts, no glory. I rode on. I slowed down to keep my front wheel from kicking up the water but it was fruitless. The water was so deep that it soaked my feet. I couldn’t go around it either. The flooding extended well beyond the trail. There were occasional breaks in the water but the sloshing went on for about a quarter mile. Little Nellie is immersible. Who knew?

In Old Town the base of King Street was underwater. Normally when this happens, police block it off. I assumed the water wasn’t that deep. Wrong.

Ooogah! Ooogah! All dive!

A beer truck pulled out of an alley and entered the depths. Fortunately it was going slowly but its wake came up almost to Little Nellie’s axles.

After a few more feet of this, I dropped some ballast and surfaced.

By now my feet were soaking wet, but at least this day the water was not ice cold.

And to think I was going to telecommute today.

 

My Ride in the Twilight Zone

After riding to the Nationals game on Saturday in the rain, I couldn’t pass up riding to the Sunday game when the forecast called for perfect baseball weather. So I hopped on the Cross Check at around 11 and headed to DC.

The ride in was just a little on the chilly side but the skies were blue and the trees had leaves. Spring rocks.

As I approached Jones Point Park, I noticed a cyclists standing next to a loaded bike. Seriously loaded. It was a cargo bike with six panniers, a handlebar bag, and a solar panel on the rear rack. The cyclist was looking at a map and seemed confused. I stopped and helped him by leading him through the streets of Old Town Alexandria. When we got to the Washington Sailing Marina between Old Town and National Airport we stopped to talk. Charles star26344076450_983dc79897_mted this ride in the Pacific Northwest. He rode down the west coast, hung a louie at San Diego and another at Saint Augustine. His tour had taken him over 5,000 miles so far. He spent last year riding coast to coast across the northern part of the US. He was planning on taking a break in DC. To buy a boat. And store it at the marina. Or some such thing. I couldn’t follow the logistics, probably because I couldn’t understand how he could afford to spend his life on a bike. And buy a boat.

I left Charles to his nautical aspirations and rode into DC. I absolutely love riding to the ballpark because I get to ride by the parking lots that get progressively more expensive as I get nearer to the park. The bike valet – really just a secure bike parking facility under the watchful eyes of two attendants – is inside the ballpark itself. It is free (except for the tip which you give to the attendants at check out).

I took my seat out in the stands beyond left field with the warm sun shining down on me. I had forgotten to bring sunscreen but I figured I would be okay for a couple of hours. I ate a sandwich that I brought instead of the expensive junk food at the park. Then I settled in for a nice game against a weak opponent, the Minnesota Twins.

As usually happens the people that I sat among became friends for the day. There was a mom and her ten-ish year old daughter in front of me. Daughter had a small baseball glove. (“You’re going to save me if a baseball comes our way, right?”) There were two dudes to my right manspreading and drinking beers. (I moved over a seat and got into the slouchy vibe.

The guy to my right scoffed at the Nats leadoff hitter, Matt den Dekker. “He can field but the Mets got rid of him because he can’t hit.” I retorted “He’s got some power for a little guy.” And so den Dekker homered to make me look like a baseball genius. Later, he made several brilliant catches in the outfield so my bro was also vindicated.

Our section had plenty of Minnesota fans. So there was good natured teasing going on throughout the game. Our fearless pitcher Stephen Strasburg pitched for seven innings after over 100 pitches he becomes mortal, but the bullpen was tired so the manager left him in. In a flash he gave up a three-run home run which landed about ten seats to my right. Down 4-1 it looked like the game was lost. People started to leave.

It was 4-3 in the bottom of the ninth. More people started to leave.

Our manager, Dusty Baker, had decided to rest the 2015 MVP, a fellow by the name of Bryce Harper, for the day. Baker actually told Harper before the game that he would only use him in a situation that would make him look like a hero. So Harper comes up to pinch hit and powers the second pitch he sees into the stand beyond center field. Tie game! The crowd goes nuts!

And so we went into extra innings. After four innings the Nationals have a comical race among six “presidents” who are men with giant heads. They run around the wa.rning track to a finish line tape near the Nats dugout. It is utterly stupid and funny as hell. Our game was running so long that they ran a second presidents race.

We were getting slap happy in the stands. The game dragged on. 10, 11, 12 innings.

The Nationals ran out of position players. They used a pitcher to pinch hit. He got a single. No lie.

Fans starting joking about being held hostage. All I could think of were the lyrics to “Band on the Run”:

If we ever get out of here

Thought of giving it all away

To registered charity

All I need is a pint a day

If we ever get out of here

If we ever get out of here

I moved down to the front row overlooking the left fielders. I yelled down to Werth, “Hey, Jason. Want some coffee?”

In the middle of the 14th inning we had a second seventh inning stretch. I kid you not.

The Twins left fielder, Eddie Rosario, had littered the grass with pieces of yellow paper. The Nats left fielder, Jason Werth, picked them up and

26021255403_10305b1772_m - Copy
My View of Werth

 

methodically arranged them in a neat row. A guy sitting behind me joked that Werth was trying to get enough paper to spell out SOS on the grass.  Another guy said, “Hey, we are literally trash talking.”

The Twins went ahead by a run in the top of the 15th. All hope was lost. Rosario made a mess of Werth’s paper pile. The fans in left field started yelling “Pick it up Eddie.” Rosario laughed. I yelled at him: “It’s karma, Eddie. You’ll pay for this.”

The Nationals got a man on first base. The Twins ignored him and he advanced to second. The next batter up was Oliver Perez, a pitcher who hadn’t batted since 2010. The Twins unbelievably brought in another reliever to face him.

All was lost. Until Perez dropped a bunt that the catcher fielded. Perez was out by a mile, except that the catcher threw the ball about six feet over the first baseman’s head. Tie game.

Karma, Eddie. Karma.

We moved to the 16th. Werth came out and repaired his pile of paper. The Twins didn’t score. The Nationals came to bat and their right fielder, Chris Heisey, launched a home run over the Twins bullpen. The place went completely nuts. Delirium.

Dusty Baker later called it a twilight zone game.

By this point, nearly six hours after the game started a chill was in the air. I was an odd combination of warm and cold. Six hours of sun on had given me a sunburn on the right side of my body. I wore a jacket to keep the left side of my body warm.

The by now thin crowd left with ear to ear grins. At the bike valet I ran into a friend I hadn’t seen since December. We celebrated our mini reunion and the exhausting victory with a huge hug.

And then I was off. As I crossed the Potomac into Virginia I stopped to admire an amazing sunset skyscape. Even with swarms of gnats (how appropriate) along the way, the ride home in the cool spring evening was perfect.

26020764744_b5a98dbe90_m - Copy

 

 

 

Lemons and Cold, Wet Lemonade

“We’re definitely going to the Nationals game on Saturday and maybe on Sunday. Are you going? We could meet for a drink afterward.”

My friend sent me this invitation on Friday evening. I had already been thinking of going to a game this weekend and I have seen my friend only once since August. (How the hell did that happen? Life.)

So, thinking that “definitely going” and “we could meet…afterward” meant that they had already bought tickets, I bought a ticket of my own. Shortly after making my purchase my friend, who is on a tight budget, sent me a message:

“The upper gallery seats are sold out. We’ll have to stand in line for the $5 game day tickets tomorrow morning.”

What the hell happened to “definitely going?”

Given that the weather forecast called for morning rain followed by near perfect weather for the early afternoon game, it seemed that there was a good chance that my friend would not get tickets in the morning.  I decided to go with the flow and went to bed.

In the morning, the predicted rain was falling. My friend messaged me:

“We don’t feel like standing in the rain to get tickets so we aren’t going to the game.”

Definitely going, going, gone.

I was disappointed and more than a little upset. I felt like a dog who has been teased with food only to have it taken away. Rather than do my usual thing of sending back an angry repsonse, I turned off my phone, put on my rain gear, and hopped on my Cross Check for the 15 1/2 mile ride to the ballpark.

Did I mention rain gear? Yes, the forecast I saw last night said the rain would be over by 10 am. It was clear from a glance at the radar in the morning that the rain would be with us through noon at least.

The ride to DC along the Mount Vernon Trail was cold, wet, and solitary. Perfect for reflection and dissipating my harsh feelings toward how things had transpired.(No matter how hard I tried to deny it, I find it hard to dispel the notion that, for some reason, my social life has gone to hell since last summer. Life.)

When I arrived at the ball park it was still drizzling out. I parked my bike and headed into the park. By pure dumb luck my seats were covered by the third tier of the stadium. As the rain fitfully ended, the wind picked up. Straight into my face. I ate some food and drank some water and hoped for kindness from the weather gods. They were apparently busy with something else. I really needed some hot coffee but settle on a craft lager from the stand next to my seat. It tasted bitter and a bit nasty but it took my mind off my clammy discomfort.

Going to a baseball game alone is a roll of the social dice. You could sit next to nice people or drunken jackasses. (My father took us to a game at the old Yankee Stadium back in the post-Mantle era. The place was a wreck. To our right a spectator walked down the aisle, took a big swig of his beer and spit it in the face of a man seated on the aisle. A nasty, comically drunken brawl broke out. We thought it was far more entertaining than the game. My dad was not of the same opinion.)

To my right was a father and son. Dad was a total baseball nerd who yelled things at the players despite the futility of sitting so far from the field. His son, who was at least 21 judging by the beer he had, was ignorant of the rules or the strategy of the game. To my left a family sat. They were rather on the larger side of human. They appeared to have purchase one of every item in the food court. The teenage girl to my immediate left sat shivering in gym shorts. Her parents later bought her an official Washington Nationals unislipper (you put both feet in it to stay warm). What will they think of next. In front of me were three season ticket holders who seemed like quite pleasant adults. It was an interesting slice of humanity and I considered myself lucky to be seated where I was.

26599284725_4535478d0c_m

Except for the wind. The Nationals sprung out to a 2-0 lead. Their pitcher, Tanner Roark, was having a stellar day. He struck out 15 Twins in 7 innings without giving up a run. The Twins looked absolutely hapless at the plate. The Nats threatened but never crossed the plate again. They didn’t need to. They won 2-0. I even got to boo Jonathan Papelbon, our social-pond-scum closer.

The winds died down after a few innings but the sun and the warmth didn’t materialize until the game was nearly over. I walked out of the ballpark and the sun hit me. It was ten degrees warmer in the sunlight. Dang.

I hopped on my bike and celebrated with a tail-wind assisted ride home. The only downside to the ride was the traffic mind field of Old Town Alexandria. Cars and bike and pedestrians (but, to be honest, mostly cars) were moving about at random. I actually feared for my safety and was glad to be through the half-mile stretch unscathed.

When I got home I reflected on the game, the social mess that precipitated it, and the bike ride. I was glad I didn’t respond to my friend’s message. I would have Papelboned our friendship for sure.

With sunny skies forecasted for Sunday, I decided to buy a ticket to today’s game. I’ll be sitting near left field. In the sun. Maybe I’ll even drink a lemonade.

 

Three Little Things

Thing One

The last few days have had some interesting moments. The other day I was riding Little Nellie to work. I didn’t feel so well but I had to go to work so that I could go to see Santana in DC with Mrs. Rootchopper. (It’s her real name. I swear!)

About 2 1/2 miles from home, I drop down a steep hill. I can easily hit 30 miles per hour on this one. After that I have about 1/2 mile to go before I come to the crossing of the busy George Washington Parkway. Car and bus commuters use the same intersection. The car commuters generally are turning north to head to Alexandria and DC and the bus commuters are crossing to catch the north-bound bus.

The cars queue up, often ten deep. I suppose I could join the line, but typically I ride carefully past the cars on their left hand side. On this day I saw that there was ample space between the edge of the road and the left hand side of the cars so I decided to squeeze by them to the right. This is not a good idea. I noticed a passenger side door crack open and hit my brakes. I came to a stop at the rear fender of the car just as the shotgun seat passenger hopped out right into my line of travel. He was getting out to run for the bus. I may have yelled something. He looked at me and said “sorry” as he closed the door on his back to let me pass unharmed.

My brain went into immediate aggressive mode and I barked some angry words back at him as I rode by. After about three minutes and well beyond the crossing, I realized that he was actually not at fault. Anytime you squeeze by a car on the passenger side, you are asking to get doored. This passenger had no reasonable expectation that a bike would be there.

Still I hope my harsh words will make him think twice the next time he opens a car door.

Santana was entertaining but we didn’t get on the road (with Little Nellie in the trunk of my wife’s car) until 11:30. By the time I got to bed it was clear that I was dying a slow death at the hands of the Pollen Beast.

I slept until 10 the next morning. I NEVER do this. By Friday I was back in action.

Thing Two

On my ride home last night, I diverted from Union Street, the mainline of the Mount Vernon Trail through Old Town. Instead I rode up Royal or Fairfax Street. There is a stop sign at the end of each block. There were cars and buses about so I was being careful and stopping at each stop sign. I was passed by an Alexandria City police vehicle, an SUV. I followed it up the street and watched as it rolled through two stop signs. The driver was in no hurry, he or she just did what everybody else does. My only problem is that APD goes out of its way to give tickets to cyclists who do the very same thing in Old Town. I waved a mittened hand at the cop. He waved back. Have a nice day.

Thing Three

Today is Saturday. The Nationals are scheduled for a 4 pm game. It’s April 9. And it’s snowing outside. The biggest flakes I’ve seen in a long time. And it’s sticking. And the wind is blowing. And it’s cold.

Really.

They postponed the game. I am staying inside. Until May.