The Cycling Underground

No this has nothing to WWII. It’s winter. The National Park Service refuses to plow the Mount Vernon Trail making biking to work virtually impossible. It’s also incredibly cold and windy outside. And I am still recovering from food poisoning. Are those enough excuses?

I moved Big Nellie, my recumbent, into the basement the other day and put her on a resistance trainer. It attaches to the big back wheel. You then ride it like you would outdoors. Except for the important fact that you don’t go anywhere or see anything.

I used to do this a lot before I joined the Order of the Holey Sweater. Now I do it only when I would lose my mind without exercise. If I want, I can use this mutant exercise device to become a workout monster. I can shed buckets of sweat on the damn thing.

It's come to this. Riding Big Nellie in the basement. The corners are tight!

I used to do that. Now I read and pedal. Over the years, I have found that I read much faster and become more absorbed in whatever I am reading when I am riding. It’s also oddly meditative. I completely forget about the world. It’s just me, the book, and the endless hum of the chain. Hmmmm.

For people who are not used to it, this can be torture. In fact, I’ve been thinking of a second career as an enhanced interrogator.  I could put some Doris Day movies on a TV in front of the bike. I’d break the most badass terrorist in 30 minutes.  “Please, sir, I’ll tell you anything you want, but not another minute on that godforsaken bicycle.”

Hurry spring. I’m losing it.

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