Well, at Least I’m Not in Boston

T. S. Eliot didn’t live in Boston but he kind of nailed it when he wrote: April is the cruelest month. It takes at least a week into April before any semblance of spring arrives. You can tell it is spring because the snow starts to melt and all the frozen dog poo thaws out.

So you can see why I moved to DC. Except in DC March is the cruelest month. We began March this year with one of my favorite meterological events, an ice storm. Here’s the front of my car. 16499432758_0e1c089b69_z The rest of the car looked like a Honda Popsicle. As you might imagine, biking to work was out of the question. Just getting back to the house after retrieving the newspaper this morning would have made Shackleton bust his buttons.

So I drove. The temperatures rose well into the 40s for most of the day. This is what Arlo Guthrie calls “tanning weather in the Berkshires.”

I drove home looking for signs of ice and snow on the Mount Vernon Trail. Sure enough there were enough stretches of nasty stuff that I decided to drive tomorrow. I want to that the National Park Service for its stellar job of promoting cross country skiing in the region by not plowing the trail. The two people who skied on the trail last week must be badass Nords.

Speaking of Nords, Mrs. Rootchopper and I went to see Le Vent du Nord on Saturday night. This is a four-piece folk band from Quebec. They sing in French and sound a bit like the Chieftans by way of Paris. They played in a small venue in Germantown MD. We sat about ten feet from the edge of the stage. I had low expectations since my high school French is now hopelessly lapsed and I can’t understand most of the lyrics to the songs. It didn’t matter. The performance was one of the very best musical events I’ve ever seen. The fiddle player sat directly in front of us. He sang, played awesome fiddle, and kept a frenetic beat with his feet. I swear the man “ran” 10 miles during the two-hour show. The band also features a hurdy gurdy. I’d never seen or heard one before. Long story short, I can’t wait until they come back.

The forecast for the DC area calls for some subfreezing temperatures and rain, snow or sleet off and on through Thursday. Looks like the Honda is going to get some more use.

I Shoulda Known Better

Today’s title comes from one of John Lennon’s songs in A Hard Days Night. It’s been one of my favorites for a long time. It also describes how I felt about 40 minutes into my ride to work.

On the up side, I didn’t need to use a headlight today. Props to Copernicus.

It was cold. I had a headwind. Most importantly it had rained and sleeted and snowed a bit overnight. My lawn had a dusting of white. The streets were perfectly rideable. So I headed out on The Mule.

The three miles to the Mount Vernon Trail were uneventful, but for the fact that getting warm was a bit of a problem. As most of my readers already know, the National Park Service owns the Mount Vernon Trail. They do not treat it or shovel it in winter. This morning the asphalt parts were fine, but every wooden bridge was icy. The Dyke Marsh bridge is a couple hundred yards long. I didn’t slip at all as I rode across it. There were no signs of crashes in the this white layer that sat on top of its wooded deck. A very short wooden bridge near Belle Haven Park was also not a problem.

I made it to the bricks on the Washington Street deck. I expected to see ice but it was clear. My next challenge was along the trail near the river just north of Fords Landing. This too was snow and ice covered but I could see tire tracks had made it through this section successfully. I rolled right on through.

My next challenge came from the concrete bridge that skirts the power plant. A cyclists was walking his single speed bike up the hill from the bridge. Not a good sign. I rolled across the bridge and around its tight turn without incident, but I took note of the icy mud in the middle of the turn.

I figured that the farther north I rode, the lower the ambient air temperature and the higher the chance that one of these bridges would be bad news. I figured right.

The next bridge is a wooden deck that skirts the Slaters Lane apartment building. It takes a leftward 90 degree turn midway. The first half was rideable, but I spotted a smear mark in the thin layer of ice and snow on the boards. Someone had crashed. I made it through the turn in good shape despite several more smear marks. Then with out warning my rear tire began to slide sidewards. I gradually tried to steer out of it. Then down I went in a pretty decent imitation of an albatross landing. Somehow I ended up lying flat across the bike’s frame with my upper body and left ribs landing on the downtube (the diagonal one from the handlebars to the pedals) and my legs smacking the top tube (the one from the seat to the handlebars.

Oof! Am I hurt? Nope. Then I untangled myself from The Mule. Ow. Ribs hurt a bit. I stood the bike up. It slid. I was going to take a picture of my smear but the bike would not stay upright. So I walked off the bridge. As I did I could barely get traction. I made it off the bridge, straightened the handlebars and brake hood and rode away thankful that all my personal parts were working. I credit my not getting hurt to the fact that the bike frame cushioned the blow and the bike and I slid on contact.

100 yards further on was the beaver bridge, a similar wood bridge notorious for crashes. I decided to walk this one. Smears were all over the place. A walker was practically skating as she approached. I made it around the curve and went down. Walking! That’s how slippery it was. I carefully got up and pulled The Mule up and we started sliding backwards with the slant of the bridge! I arrested the slide and ever so gradually made my way to the side of the bridge where I grabbed the chain that acts as a sort of guardrail. Just as I grabbed hold I heard a thump. A rider fell 20 yards behind me. “I’m alright. Planned for it!”

He got right up and walked with me to the end of the bridge.

We both mounted our bikes. He sped off into what had become a pretty strong headwind. We’re having fun now!

As I approached the Humpback Bridge a rider coming toward me warned that the wooden Trollheim Bridge (the boardwalk beneath the TR Bridge) was covered in ice. I decided I’d had enough fun for one morning and turned off the MVT and toward Arlington Cemetery. I rode the path around the cemetery to the gate at Fort Myer, banged a right and rolled straight to the office. While I showered I looked down and saw a pretty impressive imprint of my top tube across my right knee.

Funny thing is, last winter at just about this time, I fell riding Little Nellie on the glazed streets near my home. You’d think I’d learn.

Spring Training

We are training for spring. Today the temperature on my back deck reached 66 degrees. After weeks of freezing our asses off, the people of DC are all smiles. Except, perhaps, for the tourist I saw crashing on his Segway, but I am getting ahead of myself.

I started the day doing physical therapy for my foot. It was barely numb when I awoke but I decided to forgo yoga or my other exercises and just do what the PT people told me to do. Dang, it hurts. Raise this, lower that, keep your stomach and your butt cheeks tight. After about a half an hour our was done. My stomach muscles wanted to be traded to another body. And the lacrosse ball that is beating the knots out of my calves is seriously in danger of getting thrown out the window. Ouch.

After a morning of relaxation, I headed out the door on Big Nellie. I was bound for an everything bagel in Bethesda, about 24 miles away. It was 50 degrees outside. Yesss.

As I was waiting for cars at an intersection with Fort Hunt Road near my home, an SUV drove by and made friendly tooting sounds with its horn. I have no idea who it was but I waved at them

I made it to the Mount Vernon Trail which was not particularly crowded. In Old Town Alexandria I took South Washington Street. My physical therapist ran past. Small world.

The ride to the city was so peaceful I went on auto pilot. I stopped at Gravelly Point to watch a plane land overhead – easily one of my favorite free things to do.

Over the 14th Street Bridge I rode then up Ohio Drive to M Street to the Capital Crescent Trail. The long ride up to Bethesda took time. Recumbents simply don’t do uphills very well. And since I am not exactly a badass on two wheels let’s just say it took a while.

When I got to Bethesda Row I headed straight for Bethesda Bagels. Since it was well after noon there wasn’t a line. I picked up my everything bagel, toasted with veggie cream cheese and a sweet tea. I proceeded to inhale these comestibles with great vigor. Ah!

I rode the Georgetown Branch Trail over to the Rock Creek Trestle. The trail was somewhat muddy. Recumbents are the best mudders so it was a tense ride. I slipped this way and that several times. The view from the testle differs by time of year. The winter view is, of course, leafless but it’s always fun to be at treetop level with the world. IMG_20150208_142017

I reversed course then headed down into Rock Creek Park. All the climbing has its rewards and for most of the next 7 miles I was cruising downhill. The number of people on Beach Drive was impressive. Many families out riding bikes with their kids. I had to be careful not to hit any of them. They wobble and waver and dart out in front of you unexpectedly.

I got on the trail at Klingle Road. This was a mistake. The trail at this point is narrow and crowded and has numerous bumps from tree routes. Once I reached the zoo entrance, I took Harvard Street to climb into Adams Morgan. It’s a healthy climb, too. To recover from my exertion I took a very slow speed spin through Meridian Hill Park. There was a healthy number of people there, no one I knew though. I rode by the drum circle but there was only one man with drums so I decided to head back home.

I took 16th Street which is a nice straight downhill shot to the White House. Along the way I saw the indefatigible Ted a.k.a @MrTinDC.

I shifted over to the 15th Street cycletrack and got behind a long line of tourists on Segways. Normally, Big Nellie looks weird to people I pass but in a cluser of Segways, Big Nellie doesn’t get a passing glance. At the intersection with Pennsylvania Avenue, the Seqways stopped to regroup. One tourist’s Segway jolted to a stop throwing him to the ground with an audible SPLAT. Should’ve rented bikes.

I crossed back over the river and headed home on the Mount Vernon Trail. It was packed with people, most of whom were oblivious to the fact that some people were actually trying to make forward progress. At the south end of the airport I balied out, opting to cut through Del Ray.

I cut over to Old Town and rejoined the MVT at the southern end of Old Town. Mistake. This part of the trail was every bit as chaotic as what I had bailed out on.There was no point in getting upset about it. I slowed down and took in the madness that warm weather brings. And besides, by this point my legs were started to tell me that all that time off in January had taken its toll on my fitness.

I arrived home. Mrs. Rootchopper had opened the windows. The temperature was 66 degrees. (One degree off the record, so I am told.)

So I ended up riding 170 miles in seven days. Not half bad for winter. Tomorrow is a day off the bike as I am going to three doctors appointments.

We now return to our regularly scheduled winter.

‘

23 Degrees and Grateful

23 degrees in the shade. Except it was dark. I took off aboard The Mule well before sunrise to make a 7:30 physical therapy appointment on the way to work. I got about a mile from home when the fruits of last night’s gusting winds became evident:

I briefly considered walking around the tree on the lawn to the right. Then I saw the wires and cables near the curb and thought better of it. I backtracked about a half mile and began my trek anew.

I made it to the Dyke Marsh bridge just as the sun was rising. My name is Rootchopper and I am a sunrise addict.

I stopped again under the Wilson Bridge to admire a lift being used to diddle around with the underside of the I95 roadway far above. The lift completely blocked the trail. Nobody bothered to direct traffic because I was pretty much all the traffic that there was to direct. I stopped and took a picture for the hell of it:

All this stopping and gawking was eating up time. So I boogeyed on up the trail to the physical therapist, located conveniently right on the trail just north of Old Town.

My therapist gave me an extensive exam, ruling out causes for my numb right foot. He gave me a couple of PT exercises to do and we set up a schedule for follow up visits. One of the exercises is the standard runner’s lean to stretch the calf muscle. The other uses a belt to stretch the hamstrings. Looks like the acupuncturist and the PT man are on the same page.

The rest of the ride to work was cold but uneventful. I managed to avoid some black ice here and there. North of the airport I waved to @bilsko as he headed southward. Next I tried to get Mrs. Rootchopper’s attention as she sat in a long line of cars headed for the 14th Street bridge. She didn’t see me. She didn’t look very happy. I was cold but at least I was smiling – and moving.

Temperatures had climbed into the 30s for the ride home. Winds were light. And I was feeling pretty darn good after a low stress day at the office. To be honest, it was just about the nicest ride home I’ve had in a long time. I took in the monuments. They never get old. Every so often a bird flew across the trail. Some Canada geese flew over the river. There were no hills to slow me. When I feel like this, the ride becomes rolling meditation. My mind just ignores the stresses of life and goes on a vacation. I sing (badly). (“Fall at Your Feet” by Crowded House/Neil Finn has been my earworm for three days now.)

As I made my way south of Old Town, the full moon shone above the far bank of the river. It cast a perfect moonbeam on the water. I’d have taken a picture, but it would not have done it justice. It was jaw-droppingly beautiful. I am sooo grateful for my commute route.

Black ice kept appearing in front of me and I just sailed around it. There was no way I was going down tonight. Just not going to happen.

I arrived home to see a small box on my doorstep. My repaired headset had arrived from Chris King. Wanting not to push my cycling luck, I hopped in the car and drove to Spokes Etc. Belle View store where Little Nellie had been stashed during the repair. They should have my steed back to me tomorrow. I’ve missed you Little Nellie.

Beautiful sunrise, full moon, meditative ride, and repaired bike. Not a bad day.

Grateful.

When the Going Gets Weird….

Yesterday’s bike commute ended with a white snake on my front doorstep. In January. What could be weirder than that? Be careful what you ask.

It was warmer today. These things are relative. It was 36 degrees. The weather gods could not leave well enough along and added a 15 mile per hour headwind. To make matter worse I over slept. I was going to be late. For Friday Coffee Club. Eek.

Pedal. Pedal.

The bridges on the Mount Vernon Trail were icy but rideable. The pavement was clear. But for the relentless headwind The Mule and I would have made decent time. Then we encountered the flyover bridges at the airport. Ice, ice baby. I made it over the first one without slippage. I said three quick “Hail Marys” and forged ahead. As I approached the second bridge an oncoming runner warned of ice. Just as I reached the icy part, a recumbent rider blew past me. My recumbent is useless on ice because it has very little weight over the front wheel. His was a different design and his weight was more evenly distributed. Still I expected to see him skidding on his side in no time.

Nope. He just flew across the ice. My brain said. “It’s a trap!” and I slowed to a crawl as another runner approached looking very concerned. I pulled my left foot off its pedal and touched the ground. Solid ice. Somehow I kept rolling forward without slipping. Once I cleared the ice I expected a panel of judges to give me scores, knocking me down 0.5 to 1.0 points for my foot tap. I’ll bet the judge from the Netherlands screws me over. He always does.

The rest of the ride was blustery but, if anything, I was overdressed for the occasion. I arrived at Friday Coffee Club to find a decent sized gathering. I advised Sam, who had to brave the same flyover bridges after coffee, that she was in for an interesting ride.

Caffienated, I headed for Rosslyn. I took the TR bridge which empties out on the Virginia side of the Potomac onto an icy boardwalk. Somehow I made it across the ice field without slipping. (I am sure that I will pay for my good fortune someday down the road.)

The workday was pretty slow. I had a 90 minute meeting after lunch. When the meeting was over, I walked into my office. My boss followed me and said, “Go home now.” I looked at him like he had two heads. “There has been a threat against the building. Leave.”

Dang. My brain said, “Yay, I get to ride home in sunlight.” Then my brain said, “If something really nasty doesn’t kill me first.” I can handle snakes on my doorsteps. Threats to life and limb are a bit above my pay grade. As the late Hunter S. Thompson once said, “When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro.”

I closed my door and changed like Superman in a phone booth.

The ride home was actually pretty nice. I had a 25 mile per hour tailwind.There was no ice at all left on the trail. In fact the only slippert stuff on the trail was an abundance of geese poop. Apparently Canada geese have begun their northern migration. This was taken about half way into this particular gaggle of geese.

Impending DOOM

Tonight, at approximately zero dark thirty, the Washington DC metro will become paralyzed with a dusting of snow. That’s right, supermarkets have been stripped of toilet paper, milk, and cilantro in advance of this cataclismic climatic event.

So I went for a bike ride.

(Truth be told, we should get a couple of inches over the next two days. Since the National Park Service refuses to treat the Mount Vernon Trail this will mean I won’t be riding until Wednesday. Hence the desire to get my two-wheeled ya-ya’s out.)

I took off on The Mule. I rode to my local bike store, Spokes Etc. Unlike this blog they are not shy of a full set of spokes, or of bike knowledge. I asked them to look at the seatpost on The Mule and tell me if it is a setback seatpost. I have a Brooks leather saddle on The Mule and its rails, like all Brooks saddles, are short. This means I can’t push my saddle back farther which is, I thought, necessary for me to get ideal pedalling position. Not only do I already have a setback seat post but the store manager took one look at me on the bike and said, “You actually should be riding a bigger bike, but a simpler short term solution would be to raise your saddle because it is way too low.”

Doh.

So we raised the saddle about a centimeter (which is metric for “a little bit”). The saddle is connected to the seatpost which in turn is connected to seat tube. The seat tube is angled back. This means that raising the saddle also has the effect of moving the seat back. Genius.

Then I went for a 25 mile test ride. On the way I ran into Mr. TinDC of #bikedc social media renown. He was riding the Mount Vernon Trail with Rachel whom I had never met. We stopped to talk long enough to get cold. Then went our separate ways. My way took me over the Potomac River on the Wilson Bridge. I rode through National Harbor which continues to be the ugliest development I have seen in decades. Then I rode up the long hill to Oxon Hill Road. The half mile+ ride was along side a massive construction site for a new casino. Personally I think it would be more usedful to have a giant Costco filled only with TP, milk, and cilantro but what do I know.

Once at the top of the hill, I turned around and rode back down because when it comes to designing lollygagging rides I am Mr. Creative.

Back over the river and through Old Town I rode. By this point I noticed that my left knee was not barking at me as usual. My arms were a little tense but otherwise the new saddle position seemed to be working out okay.

I made it to Four Mile Run and crossed over to Commonweath Ave. I rode through Alexandria and made my way back to the Fort Hunt area of Fairfax County where I live on the incredibly coincidentally named Fort Hunt Road.

When I arrived home I was quite wet from perspiration. I checked the thermometer. It was 51 degrees. Not half bad for late January.

The skies are cloudy. The air is still. I await the doom.

Sleet and Other Gifts

Today was one of those days that everything seemed to lift me. A picture on Facebook of a friend who recently passed away was posted by her widower. She was dressed in winter clothes and smiling her signature radiant smile. A gift from the beyond.

I left the house ready to greet the day with the smile in my mind’s eye. The day had yet to break. The Mule and I rode off in the dark thankful that the 26 degree air was calm. Within a mile I was completely comfy in my layers of pathetic looking winter gear. If I wasn’t on a bike, I am pretty sure passers-by would give me money for a hot meal.

I arrived at the Mount Vernon Trail still before sunrise. About 1 1/2 miles into the ride, the predawn sky was an hallucination. I stopped to admire it and take a picture. A gift for the eyes.

The rest of the ride just flowed. Without effort, I reached the 14th Street Bridge. Dawn had broken. The monuments, cathedral, and other DC buildings were reflected in the calm river. A gift on the water. I paused to admire the tableau then climbed the ramp to the bridge and headed into DC.

Riders coming towards me were bundled up so much that I could see only part of their eyes and noses. They all looked unhappy. Cheer up people it’s awesome out here!

I arrived at Swings House of Caffeine and bikes were parked everywhere. It was the third anniversary of Friday Coffee Club. The joint was packed with bike commuters. Coffee Club co-founder Ed had brought a cake and was handing out slices to the throng. Aside from Ed there was Lisa (who hasn’t been to Coffee Club in months) and Kirstin and Kristen and Reba and Chris and Ricky and Lawyer Mike and Michael and Ted and Brook and Jesse and Ryan and Jacques and Mary and Jeff and Sam and on and on. I even met a first time attendee, Jessica who commutes most days by bike from Capitol Hill. And so I enjoyed the gift of friends, old and new.

Ricky with the 8-ball helmet and Jacques behind him

The ride to work back across the Potomac was serene. The river was ice free and I spotted a magnificent great blue heron wading next to the river bank on the Virginia side. A gift from the skies.

The workday was uneventful. Just before I left work a friend who had recently left DC posted a short video of her feeding baby goats some milk. It was the first time I had heard her laugh in months. A gift for the ears.

The ride home began in a cold, light rain. The path downhill to the Mount Vernon Trail had been sprayed with brine. The Trail itself is never treated. Could I make it home if the rain started to freeze? The rain shone like tinsel in my headlight. Then sleet came down, stinging my face. I stuck out my tongue to feel the icy cold pellets. A gift for the senses.

As I rode along a cyclist approached. It appeared to be a woman but her face was covered in a scarf. She said something to me in passing. Someone I knew? No way to tell. [I subsequently learned it was Sam who was not getting this whole gift of sleet idea.]

I gingerly made my way home, taking what route the elements allowed. I stayed off the busier streets and arrived home intact, grateful for the gift of shelter from the elements.

Chill

I have said it many times before but I love my commute. It allows me time to think or to just shut my mind off. I do more of the former than the latter these days. It doesn’t much matter what I am thinking about. Mostly stuff that may be annoying me. I often talk to myself, sometimes out loud. These days you can get away with that sort of thing because people assume you are on your phone.

This time of year I often get a bonus on the ride to work. If the weather and my departure from home align I get to see the sun rise over the Potomac River. More often than not I stop to take a picture from the Dyke Marsh boardwalk on the Mount Vernon Trail. This morning the boards were covered with rime but I managed to come to a stop without slipping. After the picture I took a moment just to take the colors in. I guess this is what causes me, as @sharrowsdc once said, to be “chill”.

I also like to take in the view of Washington National Cathedral, standing tall above the city as I make my way along the river between the airport and Rosslyn. It is such a beautiful structure. I used to gawk at it when my kids went to school up in Woodley Park.

In the evening, my ride home usually coincides with nightfall. The monuments of DC are lit up, either by artificial lights or by the colors of the setting sun.

I suppose you can see these things from a car, but you really can’t appreciate them at a glance. Too often we are consumed with the goal of getting to our destination rather than enjoying the ride. That sentiment is a rarity when I commute by bike. I think we’d all be better off if we took some time to chill on the way to and from work.

And They’re Off

Today was the first bike commute of the year. Yay, me. I rode in after sunrise because I waited for my daughter to leave for the airport before starting out. I was rewarded with a big hug and a relentless headwind. The hug lasted 10 seconds, the headwind lasted 14 1/2 miles.

At lunchtime I went out with some co-workers which is something I rarely do. We went to a Thai restaurant. The last time ate Thai food was 1980. I kid you not. The 1980 Thai food was fire in my mouth. Today’s was much tamer. It was good but it didn’t stick to my ribs.

One the way to the Thai restaurant a co-worker pointed out a garage with a historical marker. It’s where Bob Woodward met “Deep Throat” during the Watergate scandal. This marker is within 100 yards of a marker commemorating the begining of the ARPA net, the precursor to the Internet. Who would have thought that lousy Rosslyn is the home of two incredibly important events in recent history?

During the day a friend announced that she is going on a vacation for a couple of weeks. She doesn’t currently have a job. Hmmmmm…….

When I left work there was still some daylight. Yesss!

Then I got to the Custis trail and it had been sprayed with de-icer. Way to go Arlington County!! Of course, when I got to the Mount Vernon Trail it was untreated because it is under the jurisdiction of the National Park Service. Boo, NPS!!

The ride home was a breeze. Literally. The morning’s headwind was now at my back and the riding was effortless. Passing over Four Mile Run I noticed that Arlington County had treated the Four Mile Run Trail too. Yay, again.

Tomorrow we expect the first snow fall of the season. As luck would have it I have an appointment with my acupuncturist so I am driving to work. Barring a medical miracle it will be the last. The treatments are having no effect at all. Even my arm is starting to hurt again.

And Wednesday promises to be brutally cold. I am going to miss the fun of bike commuting because I need my car to get to an early evening event in McLean.

I plan to be back in the saddle (if the Mount Vernon Trail is clear) on Thursday.

Shorts in January!

It’s been kind of depressing around here. Cold rain for a day and a half. I spent an hour doing yoga and tweaked my back in the process. Around noon, the rain stopped and I walked outside into 60 degree air. Damned nice for January 4.

I was out of the house in no time, wearing a compromise of my rain jacket and mountain bike shorts. Shorts! Yay!

I had no place to go and I wasn’t in a hurry to get there so I took my time on The Mule. As usual, I ended up on the Mount Vernon Trail headed north toward Old Town. For such a nice day, the trail had very few people on it. Near Belle Haven Park I spotted an osprey in a tree. They look imposing until you see one beside a bald eagle.

I rode through Old Town and re-connected with the MVT. North of Daingerfield Island I stopped to chat with Ryan. He was riding his Salsa Vaya which made me jealous. Disc brakes. Nice fenders (instead of the crappy old ones on The Mule). I want one. Sadly it would be redundant.

After chatting I made my way over to Del Ray and cruised Mount Vernon Avenue. Del Ray was a dump when I first moved here now it’s rejuvenated.

Instead of yet another ride on the MVT I chose to ride Fort Hunt Road. It’s hills didn’t bother me in the least. My back was doing great. As I rode a black Honda Civic passed going the opposite way and beeped at me twice. I have no idea who it was.

I cruised home despite the warm weather. Time to get together with my daughter on her last night home from college. Tomorrow the nest will be empty and work gets real again.

	Rootchopper on March Madness
	Rootchopper on March Madness
	halffastcyclingclub on March Madness
	Jim on March Madness
	halffastcyclingclub on Blanket of blood – Snow…