]I had intended to go for a monster ride today, drive out into the country, take Big Nellie off her leash and let her rip. I stupidly didn’t get my butt in gear until 10 so the opportunity for a century an hour drive away was lost. Instead I went into my basement looking for a cue sheet for the Southern Maryland Century, which starts in Indian Head MD, only 20 minutes from my house. During my search I found a cue sheet for a metric century (64 miles) in eastern Prince Georges County MD 30 minutes from my house.
So I took off Big Nellie’s fairing (a windshield made of Lexan) and plopped my long wheel base recumbent on my bike rack. And off I drove.
When I pulled into the park where the ride began, I saw a couple hundred cars parked. What are the odds that I would randomly pick this cue sheet on the day of this year’s ride? I felt a bit like a gate crasher. Riders on fast bikes were finishing as I was getting my bike ready, so it was unlikely that my ride would overlap with anyone’s in today’s event.
As I went to put Big Nellie’s fairing back on, the Lexan around one of the mounting holes snapped off. I have literally had this fairing duct taped for a couple of years so this wasn’t really a surprise. It has taken an incredible beating for ten years and nearly 30,000 miles. So we rode naked. (Good thing, too, because halfway through the ride the mounting hardware broke!)
Kaput
The fairing helps a lot when riding in windy conditions. It adds a couple of miles per hour on descents. And it weighs down the front wheel, balancing the weight distribution of the bike. Riding without it, however, makes the bike feel completely different. The front end feels lighter. The bike climbs a little better because it is lighter. On a warm day, the breeze across my body feels great. The biggest benefit was entirely unexpected: I could see the road. The fairing had been scratched so badly that I could no longer see through it. I have been compensating by braking a lot and leaning to the side to get a better view of the road surface ahead of me. No more.
The ride does a big figure eight along the Patuxent River, which separates PG County from Calvert County. I doubt the terrain gets more than 200 feet above sea level. Never the less there is quite a bit of climbing because the rest areas are the banks of the river. Every rest is rewarded with honest work.
The first twenty miles were a blast. My legs were fresh and I was trucking. I had fun waving to the event riders coming my way. I did quite a bit of hill hopping, screaming down one hill and using my momentum to blast up the next. I knew I’d pay for my early speed later in the ride but I didn’t care. I was zipping along at over 20 miles per hour, something I never get to do during the workweek.
The first rest stop was deserted so I took a quick look at the river. A park employee commented on my bike. We chatted and she told me about kayak and canoe rentals. The river looked inviting but I had riding to do.
I kept trucking, perhaps a bit slower than before. I chalked it up to bigger hills and headwinds. About a mile before the next rest stop, a car pulled along side me and the driver asked me if I was okay. Weird. Then it dawned on me that he was the sag wagon, looking for stragglers from the event. At the next rest stop, the volunteers were loading all the food and drinks into cars. I parked a discrete distance away. One of the volunteers came over and offered me some food and drink. Don’t mind if I do.
The ride up from the river was considerably harder than before. I was slightly over half way. No problemo. It was, however, getting hotter and the humidity was rising too. Pedal, pedal.
A guy on a fast looking road bike blew by me on a hill. He stopped at the top. I later found out that he was waiting for a friend. The two of them volunteered at a rest stop and were getting some miles in after their good works. We talked a bit at the next rest stop. His friend gave me some pretzels and I took some pictures of them with their camera. They loaded their bikes on two cars and I rode off. Uphill. Ugh.
The route diverted into Charles County for a few miles. I saw a vulture in the middle of the road. Do I look that bad? No, he was busy with some road kill.
The last few miles back to the start were flat or downhill. I finished strong but was plenty pooped. 64 miles. Naked. Big Nellie didn’t blush once.
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 was back in the saddle – er, foam pad – for an early morning departure. I haven’t been to Friday Coffee Club in a long time so I was looking forward to it. It was nice of Mother Nature to give Big Nellie and me a tailwind assist. The miles seemed to fly by. I spotted a garbage bag next to the trail just south of Belle Haven Park. It turned out to be a beaver all balled up. I think he was dead. He certainly wasn’t looking very spunky.
Since I left earlier than usual, most of my regulars weren’t out yet. So the critters kept me entertained. Near the power plant another critter caught my eye. It was a black snake coiled up in the middle of the trail. I think he’s with the beaver in critter heaven.
Near the airport I cruised by Trash Walker, my first regular of the day. Trash Walker hoofs it along the trail and picks up trash as he goes. And he always waves and says “Hello”. He didn’t get the memo about crumpy-assed bike commuters like me.
The early morning brings out the Lancelots, the bike riders who have delusions of cycling grandeur. (Digression No. 1: Look people, you’re on a bike trail with hardly any hills. You don’t look badass passing a bike commuter carrying 30 pounds of crap on his recumbent. You are pathetic. Chill.) I came off the first of two flyover bridges at National Airport at considerable speed. Three cyclists coming toward me decided to pass a walker just as I came upon them. (Digression No. 2: The levers on your handlebars activate your brakes. Don’t pull out into the path of an on-coming bike when you don’t have to. Wait your turn, just as you would when you’re driving your car. Otherwise I will have to use the bicycle death ray on you. You’ve been warned.)
I rode into the city with two other commuters. At the Jefferson Memorial I was overtaken by a vast bicycle commuting conspiracy. This included one of my regulars, the guy with the mountain bike with slick tires and aerobars who looks slow but goes lickety split.
Crossing Maine Avenue, French Braid Girl came past. Normally I see her four miles closer to home, so I had a good idea how early I was. As I passed the Washington Monument, a bike came from my right and a runner came from my left. Somehow we avoided a calamitous collision. At Constitution Avenue the light was green (which never happens without a long wait) making up for all of life’s early morning injustices. Soon, another injustice appeared in the 15th Street Cycletrack.
At Swings, the weekly meeting of the WAAMCCD (Washingtion Area All Male Cycling Coffee Drinkers) was in session. Fortunately, we were soon joined by Kate Drake, fresh from her vacation in the high Sierras, and her friend Kate. New Kate makes the fifth cycling Kate that I know in DC, and sixth overall. The three Lisas (all local) need to up their game.
Out of the garage I bolted into the bike lane on Lynn Street, kinda cutting off a cyclist. My bad. I caught all the lights and made for the bike trail. Two cyclists on the sidewalk to my right passed me unexpectedly on my right. No warning. Thanks, guys. (Please see discussion of the bicycle death ray, above.) Down on the Mount Vernon Trail there were all sorts of walkers milling about. I came to a stop until they finished milling. All the way to the airport the wind was gusting into my face. A bike commuter passed my and said “This sucks!” Dude, try it in February. This is positively lovely. Takes the edge off the heat and humidity.
Once south of the airport the trees gave me relief from the headwind. Big Nellie and I tootled home. We stopped to take a picture of the beaver. He was still dead.
Kate Drake asked me about the bald eagle nests. I put her off coming down to see them. The trees have made them very hard to find. It’s a shame. I should have put together a bald eagle ride earlier in the spring.
Tomorrow is the Tour de Fat.It’s a big party with bikes, acid rock, live nude girls, and beer. Oh, and it’s family friendly. I know this because every ten minutes somebody tweets or posts something on Facebook about it. (If you are fat, they let you in for free, I hear.) I was tempted to go for the entire event which lasts something like six hours. I can do six hours of bikes or beer or acid rock or live nude girls. (Okay, I am kidding about the live nude girls. There will be at least 1,200 Kates in attendance so that counts for something.) Owing to my age and marital status, I decided I’d go for one hour. My plan is to ride to the Washington Folk Festival at Glen Echo Park to see my friend Lisa’s Japanese taiko drum group at 2 then ride to the Tour de Fat. I hope they have some beer left.
The weather forecast for today was pretty darn awesome: 60s, sunny, breezy, low humidity. I had a choice: go for a bike ride or lie in an hammock all day. It was a tough decision, but since I don’t have a hammock, I decided to go for a bike ride.
I wanted to ride the full Vasa ride. This is a metric century (100 kilometers), mostly in eastern Montgomery County and Northwest DC. This is upscale suburban territory. I looked high and low for my cue sheet for that ride and came up empty. During my search I found the cue sheet to a Populaire ride that was held in January. (Populaires are rides that randonneurs do to entice otherwise sane people into their cult of long distance bike riding.)
This particular Populaire was also a metric century but it started five miles further from my house. I decided to go for it; I could always turn around if I was feeling overwhelmed. (Yeah, like I have that much common sense!) The Populaire goes into western Montgomery County which has more wooded areas and much more farmland. It’s also pretty darned hilly.
Which bike should I take? Big Nellie, my Tour Easy recumbent, is super comfortable which is perfect for long rides. The only problem is that it is not very good on hills. Come to think of it neither am I. Big Nellie got the call.
Off we went, taking hilly Fort Hunt Road to Alexandria to get acclimated to the art of spinning up a hill. (Recumbent riders have to spin like maniacs to climb hills. They can’t get out of the saddle like riders of conventional bikes nor can they use their arms to muscle their bike.) Once in Alexandria, I took the Mount Vernon Trail all the way to the 14th Street Bridge. It was well before 9 am and a little chilly so traffic on the MVT was mercifully light.
We crossed into DC on the 14th Street Bridge. Winds were blowing hard from the northwest raising white caps on the Potomac River below. Normally, this would irritate me since we were heading directly into the wind for 50+ miles, but today I took it in stride. We came upon a police barricade along Ohio Drive. It was part of the preparations for Rolling Thunder, the Memorial Day descent of a bazillion motorcycles on DC. It was early so the police didn’t protest when we rode around their sawhorses.
As we passed the Watergate, some geese were milling about at the rivers edge. They had a nice brood of goslings so I stopped to take a picture. Then onward to the Capital Crescent Trail. In a tree between the trail and the river, I spotted several cormorants. They look like Seuss birds. We left the CCT and encountered a group of 20 cyclists blocking the bridge to cross the C&O Canal. They spotted me coming and parted with hellos. They must have known we were bound for glory.
We continued through the Palisades neighborhood of DC on MacArthur Boulevard. I stopped at a Safeway for a big bottle of water. I had packed two Ziploc bags with peanut M&Ms. (I got the idea of eating nuts on a bike ride from my friend Florencia. She once did the 50 States ride on a brutally hot day, eating nothing but almonds. Everyone around her was suffering as she did the ride with little apparent distress. Could it be the almonds or the fact that she is a fitness goddess? Since I am not a fitness god, I decided it was the almonds. So I decided to use peanuts. The chocolate was a bonus.)
We rumbled along and left the flats of MacArthur for Persimmon Tree Road, which begins with a bumpy uphill section. I decided to ditch my pride and dropped into my granny gear, so named because even my grannies (both of whom died in1965) could pedal it. We rode past Congressional Country Club and through Potomac Village. The modest hills combined with the headwind were making for an honest day’s work.
West of Potomac Village, the climbing gets serious. River Road is a series of half mile downhills followed by half mile uphills. The uphills won. After eight miles of this foolishness, we left River Road for farm roads of western Montgomery County. Sugarland Road had a concrete center with all kinds of potholes. The transitions to the asphault edge of the road were nasty and would have caused me to crash so we stayed on the concrete.
We road past Poolesville Maryland toward Boyds. The scenery became more wooded and hillier still. I started having doubts about that hammock. Somewhere along the line I missed a turn. I ended up on Clopper Road, a road that I have heard of but that was not on my cue sheet. After checking the map on my phone, we were back on course, after climbing a half mile hill. (At least the pavement was smooth.) I had heard that Peach Tree Road was a hilly bitch, but I found it to be anticlimactic in that regard. It did deliver some of the nicest country riding I’ve done in years. My northwest passage ended up at a diner where I stopped for lunch. The burger and fries were no match for my appetite.
Peach Tree Road – Not Too Shabby
The course doubled back from this point and I found that the headwind was now a tailwind, albeit one with the occasional swirl that made high speed descents a little unpredictable The big advantage of Big Nellie’s long wheel base is the fact that it tracks like it’s on rails on fast descents. I liken riding downhill on this bike to street luge.
We luged our asses off. When we weren’t luging the tailwind pushed us along a long flat section of Peach Tree, which we stayed on for many more miles on the return trip. I even saw some peach orchards, a nice bonus.
Poolesville with its ugly little residential developments was a bit of a shock after so much bucolic loveliness. I didn’t stay to check the real estate listings. We bombed along through farmer’s fields and past a wild life sanctuary or four. My return route put me back on River Road a few miles to the west of where I had left it earlier. We banged a wicked looey and headed for Potomac Village. I was dreading the long hills, but Big Nellie used the tailwind to full advantage. I rode my brakes on most of the descents, one of which had us going 40 miles per hour (at least that was what the speedometer said before I didn’t dare take my eyes off the road).
We stopped at Glen Echo Park to celebrate the finish of the Populaire with another baggie of M&Ms. Nom. Nom.
20+ miles to go. Even with a tailwind this was work. The trails along the river were packed with people enjoying the weather. We weaved our way at low-ish speeds, frustrated that we were wasting a tailwind. Near the cormorant tree, a police helicopter came roaring past over the river, He was about level with the tree tops and banking into a turn to follow the river. Of course, it was possible that Broderick Crawford was riding shotgun, but I digress.
We plodded along, stuck behind one runner or cluster of slow riders after another. Back on Ohio Drive we rolled along amid the thousands of motorcycles parked all over the place. Suddenly, I was hit by a cloud; a car on the side of the road must have been the bongmobile.
The ride across the river on the 14th Street Bridge was a bit of a balancing act. The winds were stronger than ever pushing us to the left as I checked out the even bigger white caps below.
Normally, this kind of wind makes for a fast ride down the MVT to home but this was a Pleasant Valley Sunday and the trail was just a mess of people. I managed not to hit a single one, but the effort cost me the benefits of a tailwind. Not to be cheated, a young woman in full racing kit blew past me without warning as I was passing two pedestrians. I yelled at her, my only outburst of the day. (Digression no. 1: I refrained from cussing out the driver of a black Mercedes who laid on his horn as he came upon me on MacArthur Boulevard. Instead, I jumped onto the side path as we came to a stop sign. You, Mr. Asshat, can stop for the sign. I am now exempt.) (Digression no. 2: It’s a beautiful spring day and you are driving a $100,000 automobile. Can’t you just appreciate it for what it is without pissing other people off?)
South of Old Town I spotted three people under a tree fixing a flat. It was John (@dirteng) from Friday Coffee Club. We’ve done 2 centuries together, both involving John’s other past time, enjoying craft beers. John was repairing his friend Alex’s flat while John’s wife Kate looked on. Alex’s tire was a super tight fit, not unlike the tires on Little Nellie, my Bike Friday. John tried and tried. Then I had a go using the tricks I have been forced to adopt in order to change Little Nellie’s tires. Usually, it takes me 15 minutes to get the last bit of tire bead over the rim, but this time it only took few minutes. (John loosen it up.)
Having done my good deed for the day, I rode on. South of Old Town, we rode past a little kid with an ear-to-ear smile riding his new bike with training wheels. You’re doing great kid. (He probably hasn’t crashed yet. That will wipe that smile off his face. Life is like a bike ride, kid.)
For my last hurrah, I left the MVT and climbed the short steep hill on Park Terrace Drive. It put hair on my chest. Okay, the hair was already there, but it did manage to put a hurt in my knees.
I made it home with over an hour of daylight to spare. To celebrate our 107 mile adventure, I took out the trash, fed the birds, and watered my tomato plants.
Saturday brought the last ride on Little Nellie for a while. I rode to my daughter’s last high school lacrosse game. She played goalie. As a parent I had mixed feelings. Most of the shots she would stop would hit flesh and turn into ugly bruises after the game. You want her to play well, but you hate to see the consequences. Ironically, this is the first season of high school sports that she played injury free, despite having to wear ice bags every night.
At one point on the ride to the game, I spent a half mile dodging several dozen runners who clogged the Rock Creek Trail. They were running side by side, hopping unpredictably to avoid puddles, refusing to move over to let me pass and generally being a pain in the ass. I was pretty impressed that I didn’t collide with any of them. This sort of thing is sadly not all that unusual in the summers around these parts. Soon it will be hot and muggy and these folks will be on treadmills until September.
The ride home was pleasant enough. The skies never carried out their threat to rain like a bitch.
Sunday was devoted to bike maintenance. Little Nellie barely made it up to Calvert Street from Rock Creek Trail. Her chain was skipping across the cogs at unpredictable intervals. I managed to maintain forward momentum all the way up the hill, and the subsequent ride up 29th Street. I installed a new Capreo cassette myself. Then took the bike to my local bike shop for a bunch of other repairs including a new chain, two new sprockets (front gears), three new cables and housings, a headset adjustment, re-lubing of the bottom bracket, and new front brake pads.
After the maintenance was taken care of, I sat down to watch sports on TV with my son. We watched a Nationals game and a Capitals game. This was hard work so we ate chips and queso dip to keep our strength up.
This morning I felt like a sumo wrestler. I wobbled out to the shed and mounted Big Nellie. I swear she groaned. I used to eat anything I wanted and lost weight. Of course, I was running 70 miles per week at the time. That’s the caloric equivalent of about 280 miles of riding. Ain’t gonna happen, folks. Gotta stop snacking with the homeboy.
The ride to work was less than vigorous. I saw two of my regulars, Hoppy Runner and Hardware Store Man, on the way to work. Some bike commuters had the audacity to pass Big Nellie near the south end of the airport. Big Nellie does not like such rudeness. Suffice it to say, that Big Nellie put the hammer down. Street luge in the cool of the morning will put hair on your fairing.
An amazing thing happened at the Rosslyn Circle of Death. I have to cross the I-66 off ramp where it intersects North Lynn Street at a traffic light. They never stop when the light turns red. Today, they did. I felt like getting off my bike and congratulating the drivers. Such is life in the zone of certain death.
After leaving the office, I stopped to chat with Bob (Don’t Call Me Rachel) Cannon of the FCC and the FCC. Over the last year a Hispanic man had set up home in the brush along the trail near the Rosslyn Circle of Death. He had meticulously built a home of sorts by lashing together a lattice work of sticks and other materials. It was pretty ingenious. He occasionally played a violin while sitting on a bench next to the trail. Somebody decided that his squatting was not to be and they bulldozed his home of sticks. I hope he finds someplace to live. He added character to the trail.
On the Mount Vernon Trail I was passed by Eric the Nine Hour Lawyer. Eric works at my former office and rides to work during the spring, summer and fall. I figure he works nine hours because I only see him riding home.
During both legs of my commute, I checked out the trunks of trees along the way. No cicadas yet. We are only days away from a spectacular invasion of a few bazillion creepy flying bugs.
Just as I passed the secondary runway at National Airport, a jet took off over the trail behind me. For a moment, I thought that the roar was chips and queso hitting the afterburners on Big Nellie’s engine.
South of Old Town, I spotted a massive motorcade of police vehicles. It was the escort of a pack of bicyclists riding the Police Unity Tour. Kate, a fellow #bikedc blogger, and DC police officer also rode in the event as she did last year. It raises awareness of police officers killed in the line of duty and for a memorial and museum in their honor.
A few miles later I pulled over to check out the Morningside bald eagle nest. It is almost completely obscured now by the leaves on the trees. I waited for a few minutes and then I saw the flapping of wings from a large bald eagle in the nest. It was probably feeding its eaglets.
I moved on and heard a strange sounding bird flying overhead. It was a large osprey, with a bright white underbelly, flying in swoops over the Parkway. It was putting on quite a show.
The ride home was effortless. Could it be that chips and queso are miracle bicycling food? That would be awesome. Sadly, ceteris was not paribus. My easy ride home was attributable to a strong tailwind, the kind that turns in Big Nellie’s fairing into a sail.
The weather here in DC could not have been better. 70 degrees. Light winds. Sunny skies. Low humidity. I could practically hear my bikes calling me. Ride me!!! Ride me!!!
Little Nellie won the draw, but that was probably not the best choice. I started by riding to the dry cleaning place on US 1, because nothing says bicycling fun like a few moments on the WORST cycling road in America. Actually, I cheated death by riding through the drive through at a Walgreens thus allowing me to stay on the side access road. One of the items I took to the dry cleaner was the holey sweater. I have to tell the lady behind the counter that I know it has holes in it but that’s okay. Taking the holey sweater to the dry cleaner is my humble way of saying that WINTER IS OFFICIALLY OVER!!!!
I headed back home because I forgot to take an antihistamine and the tree pollen count is off the charts. You know it’s bad when the cars are all yellow.
I took the Mount Vernon Trail to the Woodrow Wilson Bridge. The bridge was a bit of a climb and so was the mile long slog to the appropriately named Oxon Hill Road. I took a right on OHR which sucks for bicycling on a good day. Today, however, was not a good day. Today was a shitty day. OHR is being rebuilt or widened. The construction will hopefully make things better for cyclists but, in the mean time, I rode next to half mile of Jersey barriers with cars buzzing past me.The potholed and patched road surface would have made this a difficult ride without my motorized friends. To their credit most of the drivers who passed me gave me enough room to ride so I can’t complain.
I got off OHR and onto Fort Foote Road. Ahhhh!!! I decided to check out Fort Foote, one of 60 forts built on the perimeter of the capital during the civil war. Fort Foote, was it turned out, saw the same amount of activity in the war as Augusta Maine. There’s not much to see. Most of the fort was dirt and timbers. It’s actually a nice place for a walk in the woods down to the river. I rode Little Nellie down one trail until it became a windy narrow corduroy-ed mess of tree routes.
As I continued on my little trek, I took every side street that looked like it didn’t come to a dead end. It was actually a nice little suburban neighborhood. There were the usual split levels, ranches and colonials but, every so often, I’d see as house of stunning architectural hideousness.
I eventually popped out back on OHR for another half mile of bumpy car dancing before I turned off toward Fort Washington. Soon after making the turn I spotted three bike tourists. Two were on a recumbent tandem pulling a Bob trailer. I swear the side of the trailer said Burlington Northern. The third tourist was on what looked like a Tour Easy, the same bike as Big Nellie.
I turned into Tantallon, a residential development with a golf course. I didn’t realize this until I saw three golfers on a green next to the road. The course is strange in that the houses are practically in the rough along the fairways. If I played here I’d take out a couple of windows each round. (“Excuse me., ma’am. I believe that’s my Titleist in your spinach dip.”) I had an occasional mean slice. By occasional, I mean that I sliced the ball when I wasn’t hooking the crap out of it.
The last mile into Fort Washington is surprisingly hilly. I managed the climbs with a huff and a puff and was rewarded by the fact that entry to the park was free. Thank you Congress for putting the fee collector out of a job. The park was beautiful. A runner was having a field day cruising up and down the park roads. I envied her.
I have previously toured the fort itself.. Unlike Fort Foote, this one is actually more or less intact. It’s sort of an unknown treasure in the DC area and well worth a visit.
After checking my map app, I decided to return on Old Fort Road. This road has some truly gorgeous stretches. I especially enjoyed two curving lanes of smooth asphalt alongside a long stretch of woods. You’d think you were miles and miles away from the hustle and bustle. Of course, crossing six lanes of Indian Head Highway snapped me out of that. All the climbing I did to get to Fort Washington was worth the effort because Old Fort Road has one hold-on-for-dear-life downhill that, sadly, ends at a traffic light back on Indian Head Highway where it becomes OHR.
And so it was time to head home. By the end of the ride, my windpipe was sore, from either the pollen or asthma, I can’t tell. I didn’t mind. I had just finished 50 miles of two wheeled discovery and a beautiful spring day. Next time, I will take either The Mule or Big Nellie. Little Nellie’s 20-inch wheels were not the best choice for the potholes and patches of PG County MD.
It’s mid-April. In Washington DC. I froze on the ride to work this morning. Can we have our spriing back?
Yours
Rootchopper
I wouldn’t have froze if I broke out my jacket and holey sweater but I didn’t. It’s the principle of the thing.
The ride in aboard Big Nellie was tearful. The cold on my eyes made me tear up like the end of It’s a Wonderful Life. Zuzu’s pedals!
I saw four regulars on the way in: Three-Step Runner, Hoppy Guy, Nancy One-Bag Duley, and French Braid Girl. They are always going the opposite way. I wonder if they don’t get together for coffee at my house after I pass them. There are others I see nearly every day, but they aren’t distinctive. Nancy may get renamed Wave Crash because she waves so enthusiastically I am afraid she’s going to crash.
Along the way I heard a peep-like sound over head. Riding a recumbent makes it much easier to see things high up. The peep came from a hawk of some sort, perched on a branch of the tree I was passing under.
When I came off the second flyover bridge at National Airport, I spotted three big birds circling over Roaches Run, a little inlet on the opposite side of the GW Parkway. It looks like a big pond. It was hard to get a good visual fix on the birds, then, suddenly, one took an awkward dive to the water. Dang, that’s a hard way to get breakfast. I think they were ospreys.
I came to the Gravelly Point parking lot and some military folks were doing some sort of timed run. I came to their finish line just as two runners were finishing. They were so focussed on their time that they blocked the entire path. I slowed to a crawl until everyone realized that what my bell was for and they stepped aside.
It was considerably warmer for the ride home. Another osprey was stalking the fish in the Potomac near the 14th Street Bridge. I stopped to take a picture of the scaffold on the Washington Monument. Several years ago a scaffold was erected on the monument to allow workers to do maintenance. We had an earthquake a couple of years ago so more work is needed. Up goes the scaffold.
I spotted a man on a bike with big fat tires. I wondered if he could ride at a decent pace. I looked away for a minute and he was long gone. Later I saw him crossing the GW Parkway south of Alexandria. It looked to me as if he had an electric motor in the rear wheel. Cheater.
Put one of those bad boys on the back wheel of Big Nellie and we’ll see who’s boss, punk.
It wasn’t a very productive month for cycling, mostly for family-related reasons. Also, I wimped out when I thought that the Mount Vernon Trail would be too slippery for safe riding.
I rode 434 miles, 312 on Big Nellie, my Tour Easy recumbent. The remaining 122 were on Little Nellie, my Bike Friday New World Tourist. I have yet to ride The Mule this year. The Mule is tanned, rested and ready.
I only did 15 rides this month. Ten were commutes (8 on Big Nellie and 2 on Little Nellie). The remaining rides ranged from a short 2 ½ mile trip to the hardware store and a 56 ½ mile to the bagel store (in Bethesda). We could really use a decent bagel store in Mount Vernon. Of course, even with a bagel store, we wouldn’t have a railroad trestle above an urban canyon to hang out on while we ate, but you can’t have everything.
The big highlight of the month was the Vasa ride on Saint Patrick’s Day. (Did you know that Saint Patrick drove all the snakes out of Stockholm?) I did most of that ride with Lisa, who has become a regular ride partner these days.
Big Nellie reached a milestone late in the month, hitting 32,000 miles on the odometer. Little Nellie will probably never catch her two siblings who are slugging it out to reach 33,000 miles this year. I expect to hit 10,000 miles on Little Nellie later this spring so that’s not half bad.
My mileage for the year is 1515, or 505 miles per month. April will be another month of intermittent commuting. I have a bunch of lacrosse games to attend and a school musical. (My daughter is a busy second-semester senior in high school.)
The highlight of April will almost certainly come this week when the cherry blossoms finally bloom. And there is no better way to see them than on a bike.
It’s the first day of spring, or so I am told. On went the shorts, then the wind pants, the base layer, the holey sweater, the wind breaker, the thick wool socks, the overboots, the watch cap, the buff, the glove liners and the mittens. Not exactly tanning weather.
I haven’t ridden to work in a few days. Sunday’s ride aboard Little Nellie strained my lower back and my left knee. I am starting to worry that my left knee may be crying out for medical intervention. I hurt it playing volleyball over 25 years ago and have managed to avoid the knife. Let’s hope this is only the strain of a hilly ride at the end of a 190-mile week.
All bundled up, I hopped on Big Nellie and headed out. I had my headlight on but only for a couple of miles. Soon I can put it in the bottom of my panniers for 6 months.
The Mount Vernon Trail was deserted. I think people are staying inside to protest the cold weather. I plodded along with my knee yelling at me. “Oh, shut up, I’m going to get another 60,000 miles out of you.”
A bald eagle, all puffed up, stood guard over the Belle Haven nest. I crossed the creek bridge near Porto Vecchio and saw something make a splash in the water below. I wonder if it’s a jumping fish or a snapping turtle. It happens whenever the water is at a certain level.
The ride in was uneventful. As the sun rose, I could feel its warmth on the right side of my body. Bring it on.
After 8 hours of working for the man, I headed back the way I came. I passed Bob (Don’t Call Me Rachel) Cannon and he gave me the peace sign. I gave him one back but it looked like a “How!” with my mittens on.
Later a tall brunette woman jogged past and gave me a wave and a big smile. I think she was on a bike the other day and did the same thing. She probably has the hots for all middle aged men dressed like a hobo riding a lawn chair. Yeah, that’s the ticket.
Later a cyclists rode passed me and said “Hi, John.” I have no idea who it was. I was in my trance. Pedal, pedal, Om.
People seemed awfully cheery tonight. The evening temperature was a touch above 50 degrees. I actually unzipped my jacket to cool off. I was riding into a headwind the whole way home. Planes should have been taking off in my direction but they were going the opposite way. I must have imagined the headwind. After Gravelly Point , a biggish passenger jet, probably an Airbus of some sort, took from the secondary runway right over the trail and the parkway. Dang,
As I made my way south of Old Town, I spotted a big osprey in a tree next to the river. He was facing away from the river, toward the trail. He looked like he had just swallowed something that didn’t agree with him. Do ospreys eat Tums?
After that profound thought, I faded into another trance and om’ed my way home. It was still light out when I arrived.
And so passed the first day of Spring. It supposed to be 90 in San Antonio on Saturday. I’ll be there with my daughter. Enough of this nonsense. Let’s get some heat!
A Few Spokes Shy of a Wheel 