Tag: winter

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_zThe 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.

International Freeze Your A$$ Day

Somebody, somewhere decided that today is International Winter Bike to Work Day. This is the day when all the bike commuters in South America laugh at us up north. In keeping with the spirit of the day, Jack Frost returned with a vengeance. It was 13 degrees when I left home this morning. To make the ride to work more fun, there was a 10-15 mile per hour headwind.

I wore everything I could which makes for difficult pedaling.  The sunrise was stunning today but you’ll have to take my word for it because there was nothing that was going to get me to stop my bike lest I freeze in place.

At Gravelly Point the treeless field let me experience the headwind in all its winter glory. I was struggling to maintain 8 miles per hour. This 1/2 mile stretch seemed like it would take forever. Since today is Friday, I rode into DC for Friday Coffee Club. The ride across the 14th Street Bridge was actually painful. The wind was cutting through my balaclava and causing the left side of my face to sting.

I briefly considered riding north on 15th Street to be officially counted by the people from Bicycle Space who somehow became the official counters of this event. Instead I banged a left on Pennsylvania Avenue and headed straight to Swings House of Caffeine. To my surprise there were already about 10 people there. In short order, we were up to our usual 20 or so

One of the folks at my table had some interesting artwork in his cup. Check it out.

Coffee art at ME Swings and #fridaycoffeeclub.

The rode from Swings to Rosslyn was pretty nasty too. I crossed back over the river but only had to stop twice for inbound bike commuters.

During the day I had an asthma attack. The worst one I have had in years. A couple of puffs from my albuterol inhaler took care of it but now I know that cold air is a trigger. Whew!

The pedaling home was much easier for a several reasons. First, I wore only three layers on my legs instead of four on the ride in. Second, the headwind was gone. And it was about ten degrees warmer. Warmth is relative.

As difficult as today was, we are fortunate that the coldest weather will not arrive until Sunday. I am thankful that I don’t have to commute in that.

Let’s end on a warm thought. In one week, pitchers and catchers report for spring training. Batter up!

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.

Today's crash results. Owie!!!

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.

Surrender Winter

Having survived a couple of atypically stressful days of bike commuting, I was looking forward to doing some errands by bike today. Mother nature was not on board.

Shortly after waking, I did my 45 minute yoga routine (doctor’s orders) and 15 minutes of less than fruitful meditation. Yoga and meditation are supposed to go hand in hand but I spend so much effort concentrating on my form and my breathing while doing yoga that I have nothing left for the sedentary portion of the program.

I am getting a bit better at balancing which is not saying a whole lot. My routine ends with one pose that involves sitting on your lower legs and leaning back. This is supposed to lead to the reclining warrior pose. The reclining warrior involves leaning all the way back until your head and shoulders rest on the floor. Very relaxing. That is of course if you don’t have bicycle quads and bad knees. I am lucky if I can get to a 45 degree angle before my knees start chanting, “Fuck yoga, Fuck you.” Be one with your cartilage is my mantra.

Suffice it to say, I do only as much as I can. The can’t poses all involved stressing the quads or doing a headstand. It still amazes me that at one time in my life I could actually do a free standing head stand. It is also true that at one time in my life I drank heavily. Coincidence? I think not.

Having endured my weekly self abuse session, I decided that the howling wind and 23 degree temperature was not bike friendly. I drove to Huntley Meadows Park for a walk in the woods. Please don’t tell anyone but Huntley Meadows is an oasis of calm in a sea of suburban ick. A trail through the park makes something of a figure eight. About 1/3 of the trail is a boardwalk out into a wetland.

As a kid I spent many a summer day on Dead Man’s Pond in Albany. Big sections of tree trunks made for awesome rafts that we would pole across the scum-covered water. To my nine year old eyes, Dead Man’s was enormous. In reality, it was probably smaller than an acre in size. Not true of the wetlands at Huntley Meadows.

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The recent decision to allow beavers to do their thing has greatly expanded the wetlands. Only a few years ago, the swamp would drain completely during parts of the year. Now the waters go well into what was once woodland. Beaver lodges are all over the place. I think the most interesting thing about the wetlands is that it never looks the same from visit to visit. Today it was iced over. A couple of times my weight on the boardwalk put stress on the ice and it made a surreal creaking sound. The wind kept my time on the boardwalk to a minimum. Thankfully, only a few other people were in the park. Once I made it back into the woods all I could hear was the sound of the wind, the groaning the trees, and the occasional chirp of a chickadee.

I did two laps through the park, warming as I went. On my final circuit a couple with three young boys stopped and pointed into the woods. A small deer was about 100 yards away munching something on the ground.

I drove home and figured the animal portion of the day was over. As I pulled into the driveway, I spotted six robins bounding on my front lawn. An hour later, Mrs. Rootchopper, camera in hand, woke me from a brief nap. A fox was hanging out in the backyard. It’s the first fox sighting we’ve had since last spring.

Spring. It has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

Surrender winter.

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?

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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.

B-b-b-b-bike C-c-c-commuting, Ow!

It somehow seems unfair that global climate change would bring about vast changes in weather patterns that result in me having to bike commute in blustery 20 degree weather before Thanksgiving. After all, climate change is all about MEEE!

Out of bed and on the floor. Back exercises as usual. I had my full range of motion. I mixed in some yoga stretches. (I recently saw some pictures of yogis doing basic balancing poses. I can’t balance a check book. Not gonna happen.)  When I was done my back felt normal.

I was ready for the worst the weather gods could throw my way. Here’s what I wore:

Torso: Base layer + t-shirt + holey wool sweater + Marmot Precip jacket

Legs: Decade old mountain bike shorts + wool blend socks to just below the knee + Marmot Precip pants

Feet: Wool blend socks + Lake Mountain bike shoes + Performance fleece lined over boots

Head: Neck gaiter + watch cap

Hands: new performance lobster gloves

Bike commuting in the cold is easy as pie if you have the right clothing. I’ve accumulated all sorts of stuff over the last 10 or 15 years. Admittedly I am a fashion disaster but I’d rather be comfy than chic.

After about a mile I was toasty. My finger tips were cold on and off throughout the ride but I could wiggle them to warm them up. The rest of me was fine.

My over boots have a solid rubber bottom that keeps my feet dry when I walk into my backyard to get my bike when the grass is wet. I don’t want to cut them so that my cleats will show through so I rode The Mule which has platform pedals and rat traps.

I was cruising along fine. The Mount Vernon Trail was all but unoccupied. Near National Airport I came down a slight decline and there is was: ICE. Eek! I froze, figuratively, stood on my pedals, and glided over the 20-yard-long patch. I didn’t slide a bit. Yay, me.

Around Gravelly Point I was hit with a strong headwind all the way to Rosslyn. I started grinding away. This was not a good idea. I made it to work, locked up my bike, and headed to the fitness center. I sat down on a bench, stood up, and my back went out.

OW!!!!!

Fuck me.

All day I was stretching my legs and swaying like I was at an Elbow concert trying to free my back up. All day the spasm came and went, turning my back into a Z from time to time.

I could call the wife or the boy for a ride home but that would mean surrender. Not gonna do it.

My co-worker Kelly gave me a sense of how cold it was outside. When people dress like this, it’s cold.

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And, of course, I rode home. It was actually pretty comfortable. The idea of dismounting wasn’t very appealing. I saw a half dozen ninjas along my journey home. A couple were dressed entirely in black. What the hell are these idiots thinking. One man came out of a porta potty at Gravelly Point dressed from the hat on his head to his shoes in black. I yelled as I passed “I can’t see you.” I yelled this at everyone else. I passed a cyclist heading in my direction. No lights. The only reflectors were on his pedals. I wanted to stop and give him the blinky lights that Pete Beers had given me at Friday Coffee Club. This, however, would have meant dismounting. And dismounting wasn’t going to happen.

For about five miles my fingers were cold but somehow they warmed up and stayed warm. A few bumps along the way sent shocks through my back but for 95 percent of the ride I was spinning slowly in comfort. Go figure.

After I arrived at home I did what everyone with back spasms does. I dropped things. My glove. My camera. My glasses case. Ugh.

I ended my day popping muscle relaxants and applying ice to my back. Ahhh. Oh, and I packed for my bike commute tomorrow. I’m either and optimist or a fool.

 

Tell Tale Signs

The tell tale sign of Christmas is the arrival of Christmas decorations. There’s a house down the street from me that lit up, albeit in purple, one of its trees in October. I’ve seen outdoor trees on display elsewhere. Then there was that Corona Beer Christmas ad on TV last night. Nothing says Christmas like beer that tastes like skunk pee.

The tell tale sign that the good weather days are behind us is a cold, rainy day. I grew up in upstate New York when cold rainy days were the norm in October and November. There’s no way to sugar coat it, cold rainy days suck. Unless you have the right clothing.

I have the right clothing. (You knew I was going to say that, didn’t you?)

So out I went at 7:10 on Little Nellie. I was quite comfortable under my Marmot Precip rain gear. Over the weekend I bought some neoprene covers for the front of my shoes. Somewhat unexpectedly they kept my shoes dry. I dug out my old Novara (the REI house brand) rain gloves. These suckers are long, they go well up my forearm and have a cinching cord in the wrist. The rain was even kind enough not to turn into a deluge for the commute. My only problem was seeing. Water on my glasses made navigation a bit of an annoyance. Lucky for me, there was hardly anybody else on the Mount Vernon Trail.

Tonight I expected less of the same, the rain having supposedly moved through the area. A brisk tailwind made the ride a, forgive the expression, breeze. It wasn’t a breeze for a bike commuter on the boardwalk at the TR Bridge. He was coming down from the bridge when he hit his brakes to avoid a turning cyclist. Thud. He was down on his side in a split second. He popped up and started walking his bike. He said he was okay so I pedaled homeward. It was seriously dark the whole way. In Belle Haven Park I saw two lights in the leaves next to the trail. Next thing I knew a racoon was running across the trail in front of me. He bounded up onto a tree trunk and scurried up the tree. The rest of the ride home involved not falling on the wet leaves. I succeeded.

Tomorrow is a whole ‘nother story. The forecast is calling for temperatures in the low to mid 20s with strong headwinds. This is the kind of weather we get in late January. I am prepared to wear everything I’ve got for the ride. I’m going all Charlie Brown. If I fall off my bike, I’ll just lie there on the ground like a felled tree.

Or I’ll drive.

Frozen, Stood Up, and Backed Out

I’ve been bugging my friend Flor to get together with me before she takes off for warmer climes for the holidays. She suggested that she could come to Friday Coffee Club. Not a bad idea. I didn’t quite know how it would work though. She told me previously that she starts work at 7:30. Friday Coffee Club doesn’t get started until 7:45 or so. I figured I’d better get there really early.

This meant getting up REALLY early, as in 5:30. I stepped outside to get the newspaper and it was breezy and cold. Was it cold enough for my winter commuting garb? Yes, indeed!  I decided to break out my holey sweater and mittens.

At 6:15, fortified with a bowl of Cheerios and feeling a pow-pow-powerful good-good feeling,  I hit the road on Little Nellie. In the dark. And into a headwind. Ugh.

If I was going to get to Friday Coffee Club before 7:30 I was going to have to ride hard. Into the big ring went my chain. And I started hammering away. The harder I pedaled the more headwind I seemed to encounter. So frustrating! Pedal harder still. Ugh.

I should have known that things weren’t going to work out when I was passed by an on-coming cyclists wearing a gorilla mask and a frilly pink ballerina skirt. I kid you not. Poor guy probably had frozen bike commuter brain syndrome (FBCBS to my medical professional friends).

Over the river via the 14th Street bridge and into the city I rode, cranking that big ring for all it was worth, and it wasn’t worth much. Ugh.

At Constitution and 15th with the walk signal illuminated in my favor, I started to ride across the street in the crosswalk . A dump truck driver turning right on red from Constitution onto 15th had other ideas. He apparently wanted cyclist guts on his bumper. I screamed at him and he stopped before hitting me. Ugh..

I pedaled lickety split(-ish) up the 15th Street cycletrack and past the White House. I arrived at Friday Coffee Club where I found Reba, Beth, and Brook sitting outside. “You are insane!” said I. Then I bought some coffee and joined them.

We talked and tried to ignore the cold. From time to time I craned my neck to see if Flor was sitting inside the coffee shop. Then I decided to send her a text. This was her response:

“I am at home in my pjs.”

Must.

Not.

Kill.

Truth be told, in seven years I have known her I have never heard her utter the word “hate” or the f-word except when it was followed by “cold weather.” She really, truly cannot stand it. In a previous life she was proably a reptile.

As time passed more people showed up. They were awesome. The conversation was awesome. We didn’t even notice the cold. Okay, Reba did, but she somehow kept her teeth from clattering which we all appreciated. Later in the day, we even learned that she had signed up for the Cider Ride in December.

Time flies when your freezing to death. At 8:40 I stood to leave It was actually colder and windier than when I arrived. Holy bejebus!.

I headed down G Street to Rosslyn.  A black limo tried to take me out.  I watched an SUV, run a stop sign in front of me. The driver never saw the sign. Fortunately no cross traffic got in its way. Crossing Virginia Avenue two cyclists were coming straight at me on my side of the street. Something or someone was trying to tell me “This is not your day.”

I avoided the cyclists and made my way to the TR bridge over the Potomac River to get back into Virginia. The cross wind was fierce making it “MOTHER OF GAWD” cold. I could be home in my pjs! I should be home in my pjs!

I rode up the hill in Rosslyn. An Arlington police officer stood his chilly ground to discourage bad behavior. I watched a cyclists cross against the light. The cop did nothing. Then as I was turning left to cross the I-66 off ramp, an SUV blew the red light to make a right turn, just missing me. The traffic cop said nothing. He was an equal opportunity incompetent.

I slalomed through the pedestrians along the sidewalk, turned into my office’s garage, parked my bike and then my back started to go out. You gotta be effing kidding me.

I made it up to my office and began the day’s paid work. I found some vitamin I in my desk and had a couple. In an hour my back began to feel better. In another hour feeling returned to my toes.  By four I was ready to do battle with the weather gods once more.

The car I had dropped off for service yesterday was ready for pick up. So all I had to do was ride Little Nellie up a half mile steep hill in freezing cold weather with a sore back. Not ideal but the alternatives were non existent.

I was dreading this ride like you would not believe. So of course, it was painfree and actually kind of fun. The wind had died down. Climbing the hill generated some much needed body heat. 1 ½ miles later I pulled into the mechanic’s parking lot. This was way better than a 15 mile ride home.

So the first truly cold day is in the books. I didn’t freeze to death or get hit by any large metal objects. Success!  I am looking forward to doing battle with Tuesday. Forecast high: 34 degrees. Winds WNW 21 mph.

 

I’m doomed.

Caged Beast

Caged Beast

Snow is coming. And cold weather in its wake. The National Park Service refuses to treat the Mount Vernon Trail of snow and ice so I can assume that I won’t be bike commuting for the rest of this week.

What’s a bike rider to do? I bring Big Nellie into the basement and set her up on a wind trainer. I have a big box fan and an old television with a DVD player. I can hole up down there for a long time. It’s boring as sin but at least it’s warm and dry and I can’t fall.

This is the first time I’ve brought a bike indoors in two years. Sad face. Hurry spring.

The Iceman Cometh

I grew up in Awbunny New Yawk. After 18 years of freezing winters, I moved to Bahston. After 5 years, including the Blizzard of ’78, I moved to Prawvidence where there’s a ubiquitous poster that says “in the rainy season, when it snows like a bitch.” Awbunny usually has a couple of weeks with below zero temperatures. Bahston has howling winds and dormitories located a mile walk from class (go BU!). Prawvidence turns into a glacier for a month every year. 

After 28 years of coping with winter, I gave up and moved to DC. After a month of my first DC winter, I gave away my green Mr. Michelin coat, It was simply too warm for even the coldest days. Every year or two we have a legitimately cold day. Tonight and tomorrow is our time.

This morning I left early for work in the dark. It was raining with temperatures in the mid forties. Properly clothed this was actually pretty comfortable riding. There were patches of ice here and there along the way but nothing I couldn’t ride around or through. The rain stopped by the time I made it to work. 

I spent the day with one eye on my work and one on the weather. I could see the rain leaving on the radar and the cold air approaching. If the rain from this morning didn’t dry up, the ride home could be an icy mess. Freezing temperatures reached the DC western suburbs at 3:30. Time to boogay.

I left the office at 4 and, after nearly getting blown over, turned into a strong wind. The Mule would not be tamed. In a quarter mile, I turned off the streets and picked up my own personal tailwind. As I rode along the Potomac River, I could see that most of the rain had indeed dried. Now the problem was all the dead tree limbs littering the trail. Good thing it was daylight because I would have hit a few of them in the dark for sure. 

South of the Memorial Bridge the trail started to get slippery. The problem wasn’t ice; it was the poo from a thousand geese.  I pedaled through the messes and the masses and watched as they skittered left and right and flew over my head. This weather was fowl indeed. (Sorry.)

All the way home I kept an eye on the temperature read-out on my bike computer. It started at 39. By the time I cleared Old Town Alexandria it was down to 33. Occasional twists in the trail would momentarily send me into the wind. Oof! Brr! Pedal, pedal.

In the few wet spots on the trail under the Wilson Bridge, it looked like black ice was forming. With no one on the trails or roads I could easily ride around these. Take me home tailwind. 

As I rolled into the driveway in the twilight, the temperature read “32”. 

I’m working from home tomorrow. The read out will be in the single digits with howling winds. That;s cold enough to make you tawk funny or drop some ahs.