Our heat wave continues. Of course, that’s no reason not to ride my bike to work. And so I did. It’s Friday which means I got up early for Friday Coffee Club at Swings House of Fritters near the White House.
I left at 6:25, way too early, especially considering my attendance at Bike Arlington’s Happy Hour yesterday evening. There’s not a whole lot going on at 6:30 in the morning, so it was just me, Big Nellie, and gallons of sweat. Pedal, pedal.
I saw the Trash Walker near the airport, but he was my only regular du jour. I looked for Nancy Duley under the 14th Street bridge, but she was back in her sumptuous estate in tony Hollin Hall running her AC at 11.
Despite the weather and the fact that we sat outside, Friday Coffee Club was hopping. Ed and Mary had returned from bike touring the high mountains of Colorado. They were still in vacation withdrawal looking just a tad thinner than usual and sporting the kind of smiles only an awesome vacation can paint on your face. Good to have them back.
I carried some extra cargo to Swings today. We have a tomato plant that is producing an insane amount of fruit. Katie beat Lisa to claiming my surplus inventory so I presented her with a bag of ‘toes. This is only fair since Katie stood in the cold of early March to staff a rest stop in Potomac during the Vasa ride. Thanks, Katie.
Katie and Her Stash O’Toes
Kirsten showed up on her new Surly Long Haul Trucker. Talk about a happy camper. She LOVES her new bike. It fits her like a glove. I must say that I have serious new bike envy. I’d go out an buy one myself, but that might start a chain reaction that would cause my bank account and my shed to explode. You see, I have bent lust too. And trike lust. It’s a disease, I tell you.
Lisa, Surly, and Kirsten
At happy hour last night, Shawn was talking about bringing shears to trim back the overgrown vegetation on the TR bridge. He and another cyclist (who’s name shouldn’t escape me but does) were out on the bridge in the heat and humidity working away. Nice going, guys.
For the ride home, I had a surprisingly strong headwind. Normally, this is refreshing, but tonight it was just more hot sticky air over my skin. I am taking the weekend off from cycling. When I get back to it on Monday, the heat wave should be over. Ahhh!!!
The radar looked favorable. If I timed it right, I could ride to work without getting wet. As Bill Cosby’s Noah once said, “RIGHT!”
It started out as a sprinkle. Since traffic was light I took Fort Hunt Road and the US 1 connector to the Mount Vernon Trail at the beltway. What cars there were gave me plenty of room. Drivers must be in a good mood.
Then the rain started. A little at first, then some more, then still more. Like Noah, I wanted to know “What’s a cubit?”
By the time I reached the airport ten miles into this little adventure, I was sopping wet. Animals were lining up in twos to get on Big Nellie. Voompah, voompah, voompah!
I saw Bob Cannon riding toward the 14th Street Bridge. He was not looking real happy. It’s hard to look happy when your beard is a sponge, I suppose.
I pulled into the garage at work and rolled past the big boss. He’s not actually big, he’s just the top dog. He’s not actually a canine…
He walked past me at the bike rack and, pointing to the puddle of water beneath me and my bike, I said, “Now this is dedication!” He replied, “in some countries, this is grounds for institutionalization.”
Since I was riding in clothes still wet from this morning, the ride home into a humid headwind wasn’t unpleasant. A few miles into the ride, I clicked my odometer. During the morning deluge Big Nellie turned 33.
At the beltway, I caught the light to cross Washington Street so I followed the US 1 connector and rode on Fort Hunt Road. I caught a light at Belle View Boulevard so I took a right and rode up brutal Beacon Hill. For months I have been having trouble with congestion in my lungs, but not today. I huffed and puffed all the way up the hill but there was no wheezing or coughing. I hope my lung problems are finally gone.
Once I reached the top of the hill, the rest of my ride home was a piece of cake. I even added another short hill for good measure.
So what does a dedicated bike commuter do on a four day weekend?
I finished off June today with a 22 mile ride on Big Nellie, my Tour Easy recumbent. The repaired chain seems to be working fine. I did notice when installing new brake pads yesterday that my front fork has some surface rust on it. I think I’ll replace it when I swap out the chain and drive train.
It was a pretty busy month. My daughter graduated from high school. All eyes are now on late August when she starts a new chapter in our lives when she heads west to Butler University in Indianapolis. I missed several days of riding dealing with graduation and other family events. I still managed to ride 672 miles. 508 ½ of those miles were aboard Big Nellie. The big hoss has become my go-to bike this summer. The Mule, my old Specialized Sequoia touring bike, came in with 125 miles, all while riding to work. Little Nellie, my Bike Friday New World Tourist, got light use with only 38.5 miles.
I rode to work 16 times, 11 on Big Nellie, 4 on The Mule and once on Little Nellie. My longest ride of the month was 64 miles on Big Nellie in Prince Georges County, Maryland.
For the year, I have 3,526 miles with 82 bike commutes.
I haven’t signed up for any fall rides this year. I will probably do the Southern Maryland Century and the 50 States Ride again. Once the kids go to college, I may jump in the car and go for some long rides in the boonies. That’s what they’re there for.
Since it is the longest day of the year, it makes sense to go all in on activities. The day started with splendid weather. It was actually sweater weather when I woke up. (This is especially odd since it was 100 degrees on the same day last year.) The day quickly warmed up to the comfortable 80s. Ahhh.
I left home early despite staying up late to watch the NBA finals. On six hours of sleep, I rode Big Nellie into town. The Mount Vernon Trail is just indescribably nice on summer mornings like this. I left about a half hour early so most of my regulars were still messing with visions of sugarplums. The Trash Walker, however, was doing his thing, keeping me on my toes. Under the 14th Street Bridge, Nancy Duley stood next to her bike. This is as far as she goes, like there is a force field just beyond. It would be interesting to see her bounce off the force field while riding. BOING.
She was turning around after escorting Mr. Nancy Duley most of the way to his office in DC. Next time, I am taking her through the force field and into the city. I have to figure out how to get through the barrier because I can’t use my bicycle death ray. It turns out death rays are illegal. Who knew? We’ll breach the barrier somehow.
Friday Coffee Club was once again a men’s only affair for the first hour or so. Kirstin (@ultrarunnergirl) showed up to liven things up a bit. Then, as always, we went our separate ways to earn a buck. Crossing the TR Bridge, the river looked beautiful, the breeze felt splendid, and the skies were blue. I went to work anyway.
After work my son and I took Metro to Nationals Park to watch a ballgame. It was on of my Fathers Day gifts. Our seats were on the lower level behind the third base dugout. As Wayne Campbell would say, “Excellent.” I resisted the urge to yell, “Let’s go! EXPOS!!!” through out the game. (This whole Nationals thing is a charade. They should wear those goofy looking Expos hats a few times a game. Maybe even have the announcers repeat everything en francais.)
The game was a pitching duel with Steven Strasburg striking out 9 in 7 innings. The highlight of the game came when my son and I, singing like a couple of eunuchs, hit the high note of “Take On Me” during the seventh inning stretch. We were tempted to start singing “Staying Alive” in faux Bee Gee falsettos, but thought better of it. (Another beer, though, and I would have gone for it.)
Well, the Expos won and we made our way back to Rosslyn to retrieve the car and Big Nellie. We were prepared to put the bike on the back of the car and call it a night, but the weather was perfect and I was not the least bit tired. So my son drove home and I hit the Mount Vernon Trail.
It was the summer solstice. I expected to find all kinds of Shakespearean characters along the way but only saw 6 cyclists. Three were riding without lights. When I had a solitary stretch of the trail, I turned my headlight off. The moon was intense! Big and nearly full. Combined with the clear skies it was casting a glow on the river and the greenery along the trail. It looked almost as if someone had sprayed silver on the grass and leaves and water.
I cruised along at 12 miles per hour taking in the views and making sure to keep my mouth shut so as not to take in the bugs. I arrived home at 12:30 ready to call it a day.
Big Nellie, having escaped arrest for indecent exposure over the weekend, took me to work naked this morning. She was naked. I was clothed. Just want to make myself crystal clear about this.
The plunge down Park Terrace Drive was rather breezy. We hit 35 miles per hour. I was wearing loose shorts so let’s just say the feeling was rather festive.
I cruised down the Mount Vernon Trail, spotting yet another snapper turtle next to the trail. I am guessing that it was laying eggs. Either that or it was mooning me. It’s hard to tell with the shell.
If the downhill breeze up my pants didn’t wake me up, the reekage in Belle Haven Park would have. There were large pools of standing water that smelled like a sewer. The mallards didn’t mind though. (Remind me not to order duck the next time I eat at a fancy pants restaurant.)
Past the park, I spotted a chipmunk.on the edge of the trail. I wish he hadn’t skittered away. He was pretty cute.
Three of my regulars were out and about. Nancy (Wave Crash/One Bag) Duley was spinning under the Woodrow Wilson Bridge. She had no bag this morning, probably trying to sneak up on me. Having had stench up my nose and a 35-mile per hour wind up my shorts there was no chance of pulling a fast one on me this morning.
A half mile later near Ford’s Landing, I passed Hardware Store Man on his Serotta.
I could tell I am getting used to the naked Nellie when I hit the two boardwalks near Slaters Lane without slowing. I just trusted the bike and it carved through the turns. Wheee.
Just before Rosslyn, I came upon an incredibly skinny runner. She had to be anorexic. I could see every bone in her legs. Her thighs were no bigger than my forearms. I hope she was heading to an iHop. (Seriously, she looked like death. Very scary.)
I was worried that I might have to ride home in the rain. The last time I did I crashed I still have a red mark on my right knee to show for it. No worries. The road was dry. I could have done without the headwind though.
South of the Memorial Bridge, a kid about 12 years old was sitting in the grass next to the trail fiddling with his bike. I asked if he needed help and he said, “Yes.” He said he had crashed and his chain was all messed up. I couldn’t see any evidence that he was hurt in any way, but his chain was definitely all screwed up. It had somehow jumped over the crank arm and was dangling on the front derailer cage. The chain stay (the tube connecting the seat tube to the back wheel) had all kinds of scratches in the paint. I fiddled with the chain, shifted the front derailer, gently moved the crank arm and, Voila!, fixed. Of course, if it had been my bike, I’d have broken the chain or the derailer or both. Kid, it’s your lucky day.
Cruising along opposite the Washington Monument, a woman of a certain age rode toward me on a CaBi (bikeshare) bike. She smiled at me and said, “Nice bike.” Recumbents are chick magnets.
Sitting at a picnic table near Gravelly Point, a man was doing what looked like Tai Chi. He had some good mojo going from the waist up.
I dropped into the zone and moseyed along at 13 miles per hour. I was on autopilot until I spotted something moving on the trail south of the still stinky Belle Haven Park. It was a little turtle crossing the trail in the direction of the river. I pulled over to give him an assist. He saw me coming and actually sped up. I could see his finned back feet pushing him along. When I got close, he stopped and ducked into his shell. I backed away and he skittered off the trail on his own power. I think this was a very young snapper. Pretty cool.
South of Tulane Drive the trail is being renovated. Two short wooden hdown has been bridges will be replaced. The Park Service is building a bypass that will be for walking bikes around the work area. Farther south the trail connects with Northdown Road. Nortstripped of pavement and the cobblestone shoulders have been removed. The work crews are pretty patient with trail users so safe passage is not a problem.
I arrived home sweaty. Cotton t-shirts aren’t the best choice for muggy DC bike commutes. I called the local pharmacy to have them refill a prescription expecting to pick it up tomorrow night. The pharmacist apparently used to work in a pizza parlor because she said “Five minutes” when I asked her when it would be ready. The pharmacists get a kick out of seeing me with my bike helmet so I rode the 2 ½ miles to the drug store and back.A 32-mile naked Monday. I do believe I’ll do it again tomorrow. Nellie is shameless.
The weatherman warned of nothing but sprinkles for my ride to work. It sounded like a good day for me to wear sandals and ride Big Nellie to Friday Coffee Club. I stepped out of the house ready to go when the sprinkles became a steady rain. Urgh! I prefer to ride The Mule in the rain so I went back into the house to put on some cycling shoes and a vest. Back outside, I saddled up and headed for DC.
I’d only ridden 6 or 7 miles since Sunday. Biking with fresh legs is joy. The pedals seem to go round automatically. I could hear the gears make a buzzing sound. Pedal, pedal, buzz. Riding up North Royal Street in Old Town Alexandria I watched as a young girl broke away from an older girl and dashed across the street in front of the SUV that I was behind. The SUV stopped and the girl made the crossing unharmed. She had a sheepish look on her face that made it clear that she knew she had done something foolish. As I rode past, I told her “Don’t do that again!” I hope she remembers. SUVs make for unpleasant pedestrian experiences.
Trash Walker said hello as I passed him near the airport. It must be good to be retired and healthy.
I crossed Maine Avenue and something seemed different. It wasn’t until I saw a tweet from Katie later that I realized that the terrible rutted and potholed road surfaced and been repaired.
I arrived at Swings to see the early birds already in attendance. As usual most of the Friday Coffee Club folks in attendance were guys except for Lisa who usually leaves before I arrive and Kel who I haven’t seen in quite a while. Chris rode his monster bike. I forgot to get a picture. The tires are so wide that I couldn’t get my hand around the tread. (As the owner of a clown bike and a rolling lawn chair, I am in no position to make disparaging remarks about his choice of two-wheeled transpo.) A few months ago Jesse was visiting from Seattle. He was back today with the news that he had moved to DC. Welcome to the madhouse!
Felkerino arrived on his massively impressive CoMotion tandem with his daughter riding in the stoker seat. Then one by one women began arriving. It was a cascade of femininity, the likes of which the Coffee Club has not seen in ages. Reba, Rachel, Mary, Kristin, Katie, Kirsten, and Kate (making it a 2-Kate Coffee extravaganza) all grabbed a seat. Somehow Mike and Bob (Don’t Call Me Rachel) Cannon sneaked in undetected. Even with satellite versions of Friday Coffee Club now operating in the burbs, we were overflowing with cheerful faces.
Finally, our guest of honor arrived. Lauren (@lkono), a Coffee Club fixture from early on (which is to say last spring), moved to Dublin last fall to go to grad school. I am ever impressed with how she can bike around this city dressed in stylish clothing and not look the least bit disheveled when she arrives at Swings. (I ride ten feet and I look like I slept in a ditch all night.) She’s only here for a couple of days before jetting off to do field work in rural Brazil. (Lauren, can I have your life please?) Suffice it to say, we were all happy to see her. Felkerino took a picture of Lauren and me. (Lauren, can I have your bangs while we’re at it.)
After Coffee Club I still have a couple of miles to go to get to the office back in Virginia. The Teddy Roosevelt Bridge has become my route of choice. I was passed by two inbound cyclists who didn’t register with my brain. I think they were Shawn and Mark, who have both been known to appear at Swings on Fridays.
The ride home was marked by the usual car hassles in the Rosslyn Circle of Death (RCOD). Two cars, one in the left-most lane and one in the center lane, were about to take right turns on red, directly in front of me. I yelled at both and they stopped but not before fully obstructing the crosswalk and curb cut I use to get onto the bike path. (Bitch about scofflaw cyclists all you want, but I can show you some seriously dangerous drivers on a daily basis in the RCOD.)
There are few things more life affirming than a tailwind on the ride home on a Friday night. The Mule and I felt like Dave Stoller and his racing bike. I could almost hear the overture to Rossini’s Barber of Seville. (You’ll note that I felt like Dave Stoller, but The Mule does not follow semis doing 60.)
The Mount Vernon Trail was somewhat crowded, mostly with bike riders going too fast and not announcing their passes. It won’t be long before I see another rider on the ground from this stupidity.
At Gravelly Point a man sat under a tree and played his trumpet Bike commuting is often made better when you have musical accompaniment.
Down near home, the Mount Vernon Trail merges with Northdown Road. Road construction crews are busy rebuilding the road. It needed it because it was nothing but one bumpy patch after another.
Tomorrow I hope to get out for a long ride in the country. This will require getting out of bed early which seems dubious in light of the fact that it is 12:45 as I type this.
After several days of swamp weatherFren followed by a monsoon, I was relieved to see sunny skies and feel cool, dry, breezy air this morning. This is perfect New England running weather, but it will do just fine for a DC bike commute. There have been a spate of articles lately about bike helmets. It turns out helmets are pretty useless for anything but the worst kind of crash and don’t do a blessed thing to prevent concussions. In all my years riding with one on, I’ve hit my head on the ground once, and that was a glancing blow that I may have avoided altogether but for the weight of the helmet. (My daughter’s helmet once kept her head from going down a storm drain, but that’s a story for another day.)
I can understand the concern about head injuries but you’d think they’d design helmets with the most common head injury in mind. Nope. What seems strange is that there is no call for widespread use of body armor by cyclists. I have smashed my left arm dozen times or so. At one point I took to wearing rollerblade elbow pads because my left arm was running out of meat for crashes! Nobody has ever required me to wear elbow pads at a cycling event. (I have since learned to sacrifice my left butt cheek during crashes.)
All this helmet talk is preamble to the fact that today I eschewed (yes, he used “eschew” again!) my helmet for my official 2004 Boston Red Sox World Series Champion baseball cap. It doesn’t protect me against a concussion either but at least it shades my eyes and I can doff it at pretty girls as I ride past.
Speaking of pretty girls, I saw French Braid Girl on the way to work. She is relentless. I’d bet I see her on 90 percent of my commutes.She pretty much has the same expression every time we pass. (It says, “What a pathetic dude you are.”) I also saw Hardware Store Guy on his Serotta, and The Hun on the way to work. The Hun is a new regular. He looks like he should have horns coming out of the side of his helmet. He has dark facial hair to complete the look.
I keep trying to get pictures of my regulars but they come and go so quickly that I can’t get my camera up and ready in time. Today, I got a picture of French Braid Girl. My photography skills being only slightly better than my climbing ability, her mother would be lucky to ID her from this picture. I’m betting her name is Kate though.
The ride home was as splendid as bike commuting can get. An asshat on a mountain bike passed me as another bike approached and a runner jogged in front of me. Mr. Studjumper nearly causing a four person accident. Seconds later, I was lost in the bliss of cruising along at 20 miles per hour with the wind in my fairing. Life is good.
Many of my biking friends in DC were headed for the Tour de Fat, a big bike themed party to raise funds for local biking organizations, to have fun, and to promote Fat Tire Beer. Seemed like a good idea to me, but I have been meaning to see my friend Lisa’s taiko drumming group for quite a while. Her group was performing at the Washington Folk Festival at Glen Echo Park at 2. I hoped to get to the Tour de Fat in time to sample some liquid refreshment.
The ride to Glen Echo Park is pretty easy except for a short hill that goes from the C&O Canal up to the Palisades neighborhood of DC. The ride there was as nice as a ride can be. It was 90 degrees and I had a tailwind. I took a couple of longcuts on the way and arrived with 12 minutes to spare. Even so I missed the very beginning of the drum performance, but it wasn’t at all hard to find; I just followed the thunder!
There were two groups: the newbies who had only been drumming for four weeks and the experienced drummers. Experience brings more complicated rhythms and showmanship. The leader and his wife did a duet of sorts. Dang, they were good. Lisa’s group did three numbers. She really gets into it. She smiles and her arms are flying all over the place. Nice job, Lisa. The best part was when the entire ensemble played together with layers and layers of different rhythms.
Lisa (center) puts a hurt on her drum
I imagine taiko drumming must be good therapy. It’s physical and aggressive. There’s a social aspect to it. There’s even some shouting mixed in with the beats. The audience got into the shouting thing a bit. There was also a point in the show when the drummers came down into the audience to pick people to play a number with the group. I am thankful that Lisa didn’t come and get me!
After chatting with Lisa and her husband Robert, I rode across town to the Tour de Fat. My route took me on K Street in Georgetown. A few blocks of Wisconsin Avenue, one of the main drags in Georgetown, was closed to cars from K to M Street. It looked like a big party. In the new waterfront park between K and the Potomac River people were hanging out enjoying the fountain and the river scenery.
The Tour de Fat was in Yards Park, around the corner from the Washington Nationals baseball stadium. I could tell when I was close to the event when every stationary object I passed had several bikes locked to it. There was also valet parking at the event itself. There must have been hundreds and hundreds of bikes. I tethered Big Nellie to a lamppost and hoofed a couple of blocks to the entrance. The WABA table was the first thing I saw. Alex and Rachel were there looking incredibly cheerful given the fact that they’d been outside in the heat all day. (One oddity of the day. Despite the fact that I saw hundreds of cyclists, I did not see a single Kate all day.)
The beer line had a sad little sign that said “Last Call 4:30”. Since it was 4:30 and the line was long, I decided to forgo a cold one and walked around the park. Most people were watching a band play. I wouldn’t think that a band led by a woman singing and playing a bass drum and a guy fiddling next to her would appeal to me, but they were very entertaining. I could have sat down and watched the performance but I was wilting in the heat.
I rode home the way I came, down the Mount Vernon Trail. In Old Town Alexandria I rolled past a big party at city hall plaza. The DC are sure was in a festive mood today. South of Old Town, two photographers with very long lenses attached to their cameras were walking toward the Morningside bald eagle nest. I’d have stayed to chat with them but I had my eyes on the prize, air conditioning at home.
51 and a half miles after I started I pulled into my driveway. A Saturday and a rider well spent.
I am a sucker for a gimmick. Last year’s gimmicks included the Hoppy 100, a 100-mile bike ride that hit three microbreweries en route. Leave it to John, the father of the Hoppy 100, and a micro brew lover with a cycling habit, to come up with another gimmick that I couldn’t pass up.
John learned that a bicycle organization in Baltimore was staging a ride from Baltimore’s Washington Monument to DC’s Washington Monument. They call it the Monument to Monument ride. They should call it the Monument to Monument to Monument ride because you have to ride back to Baltimore. John asked for the directions and reversed them, so that we in DC could partake without traveling to Baltimore.
The Mule and the Monument – Start
Using the power of Twitter and his blog, John organized the DC start. John, Tim, Justin, Alex, Kevin and I met at the DC monument around 8 am. It was a lovely day for a bike ride, assuming it was February. Sadly, it was Cinco de Mayo, a date that does not go hand in hand with the words “wind chill”. Undaunted, we headed out for points north, into a biting headwind.
I chose to ride The Mule for only the second time in months. This turned out to be a mistake of sorts. I was comfortable riding but could not find a riding rhythm for the life of me. I’ve ridden with John, Alex and Kevin before and had over 2000 miles in my legs since the start of 2013. It wasn’t that they weren’t riding fast or that I was undertrained.
I was lagging behind everyone from the get go. We headed up the Metropolitan Brach Trail, then zig zagged through Northeast DC and Mount Rainier before jumping on the Anacostia River Trail system. I have always found this particular trail system to be confusing. I lost contact with the group and then got off track completely. At this point, I figured that even if I couldn’t find the group, I could still get a fun ride in.
Somehow I righted my wrongs and found the group hanging alongside the trail near Lake Artemesia somewhere near Greenbelt. We chatted for a few minutes and then set off again. By this point, I had another problem. My allergies were going berserk. I couldn’t stop coughing up mucus, my eyes were watery, my nose was running, and increasingly my windpipe seemed inflamed and sore.
On to Baltimore! The group dropped me again near the Agriculture Department farm near Greenbelt. We started seeing riders from Baltimore passing our way on the opposite side of the road. We would see dozens more as the day progressed. Out of the blue, Rod appeared and joined us on our northward trek. I became his project du jour. Each uphill was as struggle. He advised me to go easy on the uphills and bomb down the downhills. My only problem was that I was having trouble going easy on the flats!
We took a shortcut and joined the group at the top of a hill. From this point on, we were more or less together. At some point, Mike showed up. Mike is a randonneur. He has more energy than most thermonuclear reactors. In MikeWorld, hills do not seem to exist. Conversation has no end. He smiles so much that I’d swear he gets paid by the tooth. He brought the group energy. His constant chatter kept my mind off my struggles. And he had the good sense to laugh at my jokes. He found it particularly amusing when, as we spotted Baltimore in the distance, I called it Shangri La.
Before we set eyes on Baltimore we pedaled our way up Brock Bridge Road and Race Road. These roads are excellent for cycling and had surprisingly little car traffic. There are also horse stables and prisons. Let me tell you, if you want to have a kick ass time on a bike you need to get your own self to Laurel Maryland.
Mike took us off route onto the BWI airport bike trail. We stopped with a view of one of the runways. High on a hill. With the wind in our faces. And Baltimore nowhere in sight. I started to wonder if we’d ever get there. Then, it appeared. Nothing says paradise quite like a smokestack from a sewage burning facility and a spaghetti bowl of elevated highway ramps.
Once we arrived at the monument, Baltimore showed us its charm. The monument is on top a small hill in the middle of a cobblestoned circle. A beautiful old church stood to one side. And a neighborhood that looked reminded me of Lewisburg Square on Beacon Hill in Boston extended a block to the west.
The Mule and the Monument – Baltimore
After some picture taking, we made our way to the Alewife brew pub and restaurant for lunch. Tim took off for home. He missed some fine vittles.
We headed back with an intermittent tailwind. Once we cleared the city, I got my legs working. Unfortunately, my nose was running like a faucet. And my wind pipe was so sore I could not get a deep breath. For the second time during the ride I tried some albuterol. It had little effect. Despite these problems, I found myself occasionally in the lead of the group. There is no truth to the scurrilous rumor that I put Vicodan in everyone’s drinks at lunch.
We stopped for Rod to repair a flat. It seems pretty amazing that with about 800 miles of biking among us, we had only one flat. Alex had some problems with her shifting (she was riding a brand new bike) but it seemed to resolve itself.
The next 20 miles were actually quite easy, especially considering my allergy and asthma woes. Mike peeled off near Greenbelt. Once we jumped back on the Anacostia River trails, the group speeded up considerably.This was odd because the trail was swarming with people. Nevertheless there were no close calls and smiles all around. Somewhere along this stretch Rod veered off and headed for home. We were now five. Kevin, Justin, and Alex apparently could taste their end-of-ride shower beers (it’s an Alex thing). John and I lost them somewhere near Catholic University. John had a trip to Meridian Pint on his mind. I lost contact with him somewhere along the Metropolitan Branch Trail.
My last four miles were done on impulse power. The warp engines were toast. So was my wind pipe. I rolled up to the Washington Monument and celebrated with a photo op.
The Mule and the Monument – Finish
I drove home, stopping along the way for a Fat Tire Amber Ale. I bought six, drank two. They tasted monumental.
Check out the rest of my pix on my Flickr page. And some more on Justin’s.
It was in the low 50s. I thought we were done with this. Out came the tights and the vest. And off I went.
I have been riding Little Nellie pretty much constantly for the last several weeks. I know the bike needs a lot of work. It needs a new cassette, chain, two new chainrings, new cables, and housings, and new handlebar tape. An annoying clicking sound happens whenever I pedal with even moderate force. I suspect the bottom bracket needs to be overhauled. So I figured, why not ride it until the parts are completely shot.
I rode to DC avoiding the Mount Vernon Trail except for the last four miles. Once in the city I did a couple of laps around Hains Point, looking for a bald eagle nest that I keep hearing about. Then I rode up into Rock Creek Park. I decided to climb up the Calvert Street hill. Most people don’t ride up this hill. Most people have common sense. Not me.
After the top, I wound my way higher and higher until I came to 34th Street when I turned for home. I made my way back using the Massachusetts Avenue downhill. This would be a really great ride except for the manhole covers. I managed to hit about five of them. Somehow my filling stayed in. I took the L Street cycle track across downtown to the 15 Street cycle track. I’d have taken it all the way to Virginia but it dies so that street vendors can live. We all know that it’s more important for visitors to have stale pretzels and crappy t-shirts than it is to have save cycle routes. I rode through traffic, past an amphibious tour bus and behind a bicycle rickshaw.
Back in Virginia I took empty streets through Arlington and Alexandria until meeting up with the Mount Vernon Trail at the beltway. When I finally arrived home after 46 miles, I looked down at my odometer and saw this:
hdown has been bridges will be replaced. The Park Service is building a bypass that will be for walking bikes around the work area. Farther south the trail connects with Northdown Road. Nortstripped of pavement and the cobblestone shoulders have been removed. The work crews are pretty patient with trail users so safe passage is not a problem.
A Few Spokes Shy of a Wheel 