I Should Have Practiced More

Retirement is hard. I’m having trouble getting into the flow. Take today, for example. I completely forgot that it’s Friday. On Friday’s I get up really early and ride to Friday Coffee Club. I slept until 7:45. Then I made a pot of coffee, sat down to a bowl of cereal, and read the paper. Mrs. Rootchopper walked into the kitchen and said, “No Friday Coffee Club?”

Fail.

In my defense, it is that time of year when the low humidity and cool temperatures make for perfect sleeping. In the aftermath of the bike tour and with my rib still healing, my body just wants rest. So I am feeding the beast.

Each day, though, I have a plan to do one or two specific things. On Tuesday it was volunteer at WABA in the evening. Don’t tell Greg but we didn’t get a damned thing done once Kristin cracked open the tequila. Anyway, since the WABA office is 16 miles from home, volunteering also means a pretty decent bike ride. (On the way home I encountered several people headed to the High Heel Race in Dupont Circle. I didn’t want to say anything but I think some of these women were, um, not. Women, that is. A couple could play wide out for pro football teams. And they could go a little lighter on the make up and sequins. Just saying.)

Today, after waiting for the temperature to rise, I rode the Cross Check to the Lincoln Memorial. Just because. And it was super nice out. And the trees are turning. Like this one across the river from the Memorial.

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On the way home I pulled over to record another odometer milestone.

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Not bad.

I’ll put the Cross Check away for a few weeks and give my other bikes some attention.

Once I got home, I mowed the lawn. Mowing the lawn feels like you are accomplishing something even when you really aren’t.

Then I went inside and did something I’ve been meaning to do since I got home. During my bike tour to Key West, hurricane Maria made landfall on the Virgin Islands and Puerto Rico. Two of my BikeDC friends (who, incidentally, don’t know each other) are from Puerto Rico. They each spent many anxious days not knowing the fate of their families. (From what I can tell, all are accounted for and out of immediate danger.) A week or so later, I started riding in southern Florida. Even a month after hurricane Irma made landfall in the Keys, the devastation was obvious. I simply cannot imagine what the Virgin Islands and Puerto Rico are like. So today I made a donation to the American Red Cross. You can too. Here’s the site.

http://www.redcross.org/about-us/our-work/disaster-relief/hurricane-relief/hurricane-maria-relief-information#Domestic-Response

 

 

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Goodbye in the Sky

It would hard to come up with a nicer day to ride a bike than today. So off I went aboard the Cross Check for Chevy Chase. Not the comedian but the neighborhood on the top side of DC.

Just before leaving I put a message on social media about my plans and Ricky responded. He said he’d meet me at the trestle.

Riding the Mount Vernon Trail on a nice weekend day is an exercise in patience. When I wasn’t dawdling behind some tourists I was going uncharacteristically fast, thanks to a day completely off the bike. My lower back/hip issue was still in evidence but it clearly wasn’t slowing me down.

I stopped just north of Old Town Alexandria when I saw a big snowy egret right next to the trail. I hope you like the picture because I nearly was run over by a half dozen cyclists while I took it.

Snowy Egret

I rode along the river on the Virginia side until the 14th Street bridge then switched to the DC side. I slalomed through the crowds all the way to Water Street in Georgetown. Water runs upstream to the Capital Crescent Trail and so I flowed. I wore my bell out passing trail users of all types of humanity.

The Capital Crescent connects to the Georgetown Branch Trail in downtown Bethesda. The GBT is scheduled to be shut down on Tuesday for 4 – 5 years as a light rail line is constructed along the right of way.

I rolled onto the trestle and Ricky was there talking with some other cyclists. I posed for pictures among the tree tops and high above the creek.

Then we rode off to Ryan’s house to take care of his cat. And drink some of his beer.

Ryan has a pretty terrific man cave. Basically it’s a bike mechanic shop. I want one.

After the beer, we rolled back to the GBT and went our separate ways. I headed down into Rock Creek Park and headed for home.  Road work has a section of Beach Drive, the main drag through the park, closed. Ryan told me to take a right at the detour and a left onto Ross Dr. I missed the turn onto Ross and ended up climbing a big hill on Military Road. I knew I had screwed up but there was no easy way to fix what I done broke so I kept spinning. It was a long way up but the road back down was a breeze, literally and figuratively.

The rest of the ride was the usual cruise along the river. With puffy white clouds above. And a steady breeze from the south.

As I rode south of the airport I noticed some trees beginning to change to red and yellow.

I may not have the trestle to ride to but fall days offer plenty of terrific riding in the weeks ahead.

A Nudge into the Calming Rain

This day had to come. Rain. All day. While working, I just resigned myself to getting wet as I rode to the office. (Trust me, biking to work around DC in the rain is infinitely preferable to driving.)

No office, no ride? No way.

Still I needed motivation. A bike commuting friend posted a picture from her ride to work on Instagram. It was of the tree-lined paved path along the reflecting pool in front of the Lincoln Memorial. For all the dreariness, it made me miss playing in the rain.I could see her in my mind’s eye, plodding along with little effort, enjoying every splash. I envied her.

On when the rain gear and out I went.  From inside the rain looked like it was falling hard, but once I was outside it somehow seemed less daunting, inviting even.

I took the Cross Check to see if the gears were working properly, (They were. Yay!)

Long ago, I identified routes around my neck of the suburbs that required very few left turns and no highway crossings. I took one today. The streets were virtually empty. I made my way to Fort Hunt Park which has a 1 1/4 mile circuit. I rode around and around and around paying no mind to speed or effort, just letting the rain wet my face as I listened to the sound of the water passing through my fenders. I must have done about 10 laps. If not for my odometer I’d never know.

I finished on some more suburban roads. Passing houses under construction, devoid of work crews on this soggy day.

That’s okay everyone. Stay inside. I like it out here alone.

A tip of the helmet to my friend for the photographic nudge.

The Butterfly in My Old Hood

My co-workers wanted to get me a retirement present. Of course, they know about my bicycling habit so they decided to feed my addiction. Kelly sat right outside my office. I convinced her to try bike commuting. Her schedule didn’t allow her to do it much but she was persistent. She even braved flooding on one of her commutes.

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We’re having fun, right Kelly? The waters receded. She survived.

Chip, Kelly’s husband, bought her a new bike for Christmas. About three weeks before I retired she asked me where to get her bike worked on. Knowing where she lives I recommended two places, Spokes Etc. in Alexandria where I bought The Mule, and Papillon Cycles in Arlington. When I lived in the Ballston neighborhood of Arlington, Papillon was the closest shop.

About 17 years ago The stem (the part the handlebars attach to) on The Mule kept coming loose. I had it tightened over and over again and still it came loose. So I called Papillon and explained my conundrum to Bailey, the owner. Bailey didn’t know what else he could do to help me but he referred me to Paul, a mechanic who at the time worked at CityBikes in DC. (Paul now works for Bicycle Space.) Paul fixed the problem in five minutes with a very thin washer. So because Bailey was so helpful, The Mule lives.

(Side note: the people of BikeDC are super lucky to have so many good bike shops. There are many more than the ones in this post.)

Kelly wasn’t really looking for a place to get her bike repaired. She was looking for a shop that I liked where she could buy me a gift certificate on behalf of my co-workers.

For the last few weeks the shifting on my Cross Check has been messed up. I’ve tried to fix it. And my local Spokes shop tried to fix it. It worked fine in the mechanic’s stand at the bike shop but didn’t work well at all on the road.

I was going to have Spokes replace the shifter cable and the housing (the black plastic casing through which the cable runs). On a whim I decided to take it Papillon to use my gift certificate.

John, the mechanic, greeted me and we put the bike up on a stand. He loosened the housing and examined the cable. It looked like it was brand new. He moved it back and forth through the housing. It moved freely. Next, he examined the teeth on the cassette (the gears in back) and the alignment of the derailler with the cassette. All looked good. Then he ran the chain through the gears. Once, twice, three times. We could barely hear the chain clattering a bit in the one offending gear. He released tension on the chain by dialing the barrel adjuster about 1/4 turn. Then he shifted it over and over again. No clattering.

I took it out for a test ride. I tried and tried to get the chain to skip. In every gear. It shifted properly up and down.

Happy face.

Mission accomplished.

Thanks to John, to sneaky Kelly, and my co-workers.

 

Death March Day 2

After yesterday’s shenanigans, I took to the roads to ride the Reston Century, an event that I have never done before. Once again the weather could not have been better. And the ride started with about 30 miles of relatively flat, traffic-free roads that were free of potholes and debris. As expected my legs were dead but this forgiving start gave them new life.

Until we turned onto Woodburn Road outside of Leesville VA. The Reston Bicycling Club has a witty sign maker. They posted a road warning side (black text inside a yellow diamond) that said “Trending Higher.” I cracked up. Then I died. The road trended higher forever. Constant effort. Control your breathing. Stay loose on the handlebars. Wish you had brought a bike with granny gears rather than the one missing its second easiest gear. Ugh.

I made it and within a minute of soft pedaling my heart and respiratory rates came down from the red zone.  More hills followed. Pretty farms. McMansions in the woods. Puffy clouds overhead. Gentle breezes. La di da. You’d never know my legs were toast.

The decision point came at 42 miles, wimp out and ride back to the start for a 60+ mile day or go for broke and ride the full 100 miles. Being a bear of very little brain, I went for it.

I knew where we were heading. The hilly area north west of Leesburg has several quaint colonial mill towns. Mill towns need fast moving water. Water moves fastest at the bottom of hills. Are you seeing where I am going with this?

We followed Hillsboro Road to Hillsboro, the first of the colonial era towns. Then afetr a brief and somewhat scary tenth of a mile on VA 9, a death trap for all travelers, we turned onto Mountain Road. I was expecting to die from climbing but instead Mountain Road turned out to be a road with a view of the mountain to the west.

We rode eastward. Good for us, no? Well, no. We descended at high speed into Taylorstown, one of those mill towns. What goes down must go up and damned if we didn’t. It was a truly brutal climb. I had nothing in my legs. People were walking. I refused. At one point I was going 3 mile per hour. My knees were on fire. My respiratory rate was waaay too high. I looked at the ground in front of me and persisted. Had I been able to get to it, I should have taken a hit of albuterol because nothing adds to the fun quite like asthma.

I made it to the top and recovered again within a minute. A very fit woman with long wavy gray hair was waiting for some walking friendsby the side of the road. She said “That’s the last hard one.”

Then we descended into Stumptown. Fast. I hit 42 miles per hour and I could easily have pushed it higher. For some silly reason I didn’t want to die so I feathered my brakes. The climb out of Stumptown made me curse my birth. As my mamma would say, Jesus Mary and Joseph. (I was thinking more along the lines of “Fuck me!”)

The gray haired woman was waiting near the top. “I thought you said there weren’t any more?” “Sorry. I forgot about this one.” Lady, I will go to my grave remembering “this one.”

On we road. My legs were burnt toast. Somehow they continued to push the pedals. Perhaps it was the knowledge that the last 20 miles of this ordeal were on the W&OD Trail, which is downhill for most of the way.

I stopped at the last rest stop. Ate some junk including a snow cone (shaved ice with sugary juice poured on it). We were right next to the trail but did we go on it? Noooo. First we had to do two more hills. Knowing these were the last two made them much easier. And truth be told, they were not in the same category of difficulty as earlier ones.

Finally. we hit  the trail. With fresh legs I can easily cruise the trail from here at 20 miles per hour. Today, I had to settle for 16. For ten miles. Then my legs basically started calling me vulgar names and refused to propel me. I threatened them with no post-ride pasta and they quit their protest. It was a pathetic slog to the finish though. Even the walkers from the hills of death passed me.

I think I may have been the lanterne rouge. (The last finisher.) I got my t-shirt. And sat down to eat some pasta and salad. People started folding up the chairs and tables in the outdoor space we were in. Fortunately, my mouth still function. I snarfed my food and began to leave. I met Steve O and Erin. I recognized Steve O because we was wearing a Nats cycling cap. I’ve met Erin twice before. She lives less than a mile from my house. And my brain could not make the connection. It was the second facial recognition failure of the day. At a rest stop, I parked my bike and a cyclists said hello, gave me his name, shook my hand, and told me how much he enjoys the blog. I know we’ve met before. But my fusiform gyrus locked up once again. Sorry.

I deliberately did not use my phone to Instagram pictures of the ride. I treated this as work and I wanted to be focused on the task. Also, you can’t take pictures when your lungs and knees are working beyond their rated capacity.

Late in the ride I took a few pictures with my point and shoot camera. In Waterford, one of the colonial era mill towns, the road way had been milled. (Remarkably this was one of the only bad road surfaces for the entire ride. Many of the country roads we were on had recently been paved.) When I hit the bump at the end of the milling my camera bounced out on the road. A minivan came up behind me. I motioned for the driver to veer to the left and she drove so that her tires missed the camera. It’s supposed to be shock proof. And, thankfully, it is!

I have finished my weekend of torture.

Torture postscript: My family and I went out to dinner. During after dinner conversation, I had a massive muscle cramp in my right hamstring. I was splayed out in a booth going “Ow. Ow. Ow.” After about five minutes of pain (and laughter), I started sipping water and breathing rhythmically and the muscle relaxed.

 

 

 

Death March Tune Up

Back in my marathoning days I didn’t consider myself in shape enough for a 26-mile race until I had run 21 miles comfortably. The first time was usually brutal. But the second and third times were almost easy. Somehow the stress from that one brutal effort re-set my body for the task ahead. (In every marathon I ever ran an invisible bear jumped on my back at around mile 23. Preparation can only get you so far.)

With my bike tour less than three weeks off, I decided to push my body this weekend. Today’s ride was designed by my friend Colin. He rides in suburban and rural Montgomery County Maryland and examines GIS data on places to ride. He concocted today’s 48 mile ride that included secondary roads, neighborhood streets, gravel roads. single track (dirt paths that are only a foot or two wide) through grassy fields, and nasty, rocky, tree-rooted, hill single track in the woods.

After a stop at Dunkin Donuts for proper ride fuel, we headed out on suburban roads. Colin, Ian, Kevin, Austin and I were met there by Jeff. Traffic was light and the pavement was smooth. Not a problem. The roads became more rural. Colin pointed us to a grassy field. Off we went. The grass was so high I could barely see the single track that wound through it.

Whenever the single track went into woods, we’d be surrounded by green and covered in shade. But trees have roots (I ought to know) and paths have rocks. Never having done this sort of riding before I exhausted by grip and my forearm muscles trying to control my Cross Check. An additional problem was the fact that the second to easiest gear on my bike wasn’t working. It turns out this was the perfect gear for much of the riding we were doing. The lowest gear often caused my rear wheel to spin. The next available low gear was too hard to mash on the steep rises.

I persevered and thought I did a pretty decent job. Riding on single track is much more tiring than road riding. Even when you are gliding you are expending energy dodging bumps and negotiating dips and turns.

At one point we followed a trail along the side of a lake. It was truly beautiful. I thought I was doing great. I encountered a three tree roots in a row and didn’t have the momentum to get over them. I fell over sideways. The undergrowth and a well placed large tree limb cushioned my fall. Only my pride was hurt. A few minutes later Jeff fell.

Colin made an executive decision to re-route us, or perhaps I should say re-root us. As we bombed along the path seemed to get hillier and rockier and have more and more tree roots. I am pretty sure that much of this had to do with the fact that I was worn out. I spent an embarrassing amount of time walking because I simply couldn’t power my way up steep short climbs with a bumpy surface.

I was actually worried that my saddle might break. It kept making popping noises because I was not unweighting my butt when I went over the bumps.

The last few miles were on paved streets and this felt incredibly easy. We had to do a minor repair on Jeff’s gears which were partially disabled during his fall. Colin reached down and bent something and voila the gears worked again.

Our pre-final destination during the ride was a brew pub in Gaithersburg. We got there and saw the sign on the door that said it was closed for renovations. What a sad sight to see six grown men cry.

We recovered our composure and found a Tex Mex restaurant with a patio. My god the beer tasted good. And the salt and oil on the chips was heaven.

The last 2 1/2 miles back to the start were uneventful. When I got off my bike, I felt like I had ridden 80 miles.

I really envied the mountain bikers we encountered on the single track sections of this ride. As tired as I was, I was having a ton of fun, but their bikes with wide tires, wide handlebars and big gear ranges would have made it much more enjoyable still.

When I finished I looked at my Instagram feed. I saw a picture of my friend Emilia who had just ridden over 60 miles to Harpers Ferry WV along the C&O canal towpath. She was all cleaned up and wearing a sundress and smiling. I cracked up. I looked like I’d been dragged through the woods. Which I suppose I had been.

Tomorrow I will ride the Reston Century or as much of it as my body will tolerate.

I made a Flickr album of the ride.

 

Work Somehow Seemed Easier than Retirement

My quest to do myself in by retiring marched forward yesterday. I started the day painting my shed in stifling humidity. I was drenched in sweat after two hours. I changed shirts and went to the home despot for some landscape edging. I then installed this along the bottom of the shed in the  hopes of impeding water flowing under it and somehow making the raised floor wet. Plan B involves regrading which I seriously want to avoid.

Next up I rode my Cross Check to see if an adjustment I made to the rear derailler’s shifting had fixed an annoying problem with the chain bouncing around. No dice. So I rode to Spokes Etc. my local bike store. They took a crack at it (again). Then I rode home. 11 miles in more stifling heat and humidity.

Next I sat indoors and cooled off for a couple of hours before riding the Cross Check to DC. Yeah, the chain started skipping again but at least I had a nice tailwind.

I attended a volunteer night at WABA world headquarters. I helped assemble first aid kits for ride marshals in preparation for the 50 States Ride. (Registration is still open.) They were short on defibrillators.  (Just kidding.) They had pizza and beer, which works for me as first and second aid.

It was still pretty gross out for the ride home. The headwind slowed me down but it cooled me off. The swarms of bugs along the river didn’t float my boat. Another 33 miles in the can.

I made it home and took a long cold shower. Then I sat down to watch the Nats on TV. I made it to the top of the 9th inning. Then I fell fast asleep. Ain’t baseball great. I woke up at 12:30 and staggered to bed.

Today I took it really easy. I put new brake pads on The Mule in preparation for the tour and then took Big Nellie out for a slow-ish 20-mile ride in the park. The rest of the day was spent sitting on the deck reading an actual book.

The next four days look like this:

  • Thursday: 6.5 mile hike on the Appalachian Trail
  • Friday
    • Ride 32 miles to and from Friday Coffee Club in DC
    • Ride 22 miles to and from Crystal City Happy Hour
  • Saturday: Ride 47 miles with Colin and company in Maryland. Ride ends at a brewery. That Colin is a genius.
  • Sunday: Ride 100 miles at the Reston Century

I wonder if I can get out of the ICU early enough on Monday to go the Nats game.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dueling Odometers

Friday began with what is becoming a rejuvenated tradition for me: Friday Coffee Club. The ride into the city on my Cross Check was run of the mill. I was in a good mood and the ride only made it better.

About 1 mile from A Baked Joint, the interim location of the FCC, I happened to run into Andrea. Andrea and I chatted for a bit about how hard it is to get to ABJ. The streets are one way or closed off from construction or the traffic lights are numerous and interminable. Basically, it’s DC. Deal.

Andrea, however, has figured out some tricks. New York Avenue is a main drag that runs on a diagonal to the grid of lettered and numbered streets. Intersections often result in small triangles with traffic lights going every which way. When you get to a red light at one of these the trick is to take a right then a quick left, essentially going the long way around the triangle, then a right to continue on the diagonal. Not only does this save time at the first red light but it allows you to catch a few more green lights along the way.

Andrea’s real genius came when she took me down K Street. A left on 7th Street is illegal so Andrea does a Copenhagen left. She rides to the far side of the intersection and pivots her bike. And from there ABJ is but a short hop away. Watch me screw it up next week.

We had our coffee outside. We told tales of our bike touring adventures. Andrea advised me to get a silk sleeping bag liner. Genius again! Then PLINK! A sheared off screw fell on the table from above where some construction was happening. Fortunately we survived a few more insults from on high before moving on.

On the ride to work I fell in behind Lawyer Mike and Pancho. Until I met him at FCC, I’d never met a Pancho before. I can’t get over what a cool name it is. Right up there with Augustus.

The ride to work went surprisingly fast. I had figured out a few tricks of my own last week. It involves getting through the worst of the badly timed lights on the M Street cycletrack. Several of these lights last a minute so hitting them all is pretty frustrating.

In the evening I rode to Mount Pleasant, a neighborhood in the north central part of DC. The ride there was remarkably pleasant. especially given the fact that I rode through two insanely congested traffic circles. At my destination, I met a bunch of co-workers present and past for happy hour. This turned into dinner. It was a pretty darned nice evening. Unfortunately, when I got out of the restaurant a little after 10 pm, it started to rain cats and dogs. I put on my rain jacket, hopped on the Cross Check and carefully rode toward Virginia down 11th Street. I could barely see and was sure that the drivers and other street users could barely see me. I took my time.  I stopped to put on my headlight and made my way to the Pennsylvania Avenue cycletrack. Then it was on to 15th Street and past the Washington Monument. The rain started to abate.

I have no idea how long it took me to ride the 16 miles home. Once it stopped raining it was actually pretty nice. The trail was empty. It was just me and the breeze and the sound of thousands of frogs croaking and peeping in the night.

I arrived a home just after midnight.  I stayed up another couple of hours before falling asleep in an easy chair. Then I staggered to bed only to be awoken at 6 am with cramps in my feet and calves. Perhaps I should drink less wine and more water on these outings. Ya think?

During yesterday’s festivities the Cross Check managed to cross over a mileage threshold.

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In the evening, my wife, daughter, and I went out to get some dinner. Just before arriving back home, the car odometer hit a milestone of its own and easily won the odometer competition.

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I gotta get pedaling. It’s catching up to my bikes!

 

Solo in Charm City, Hon

Today was the annual Tour Dem Parks, Hon ride in Baltimore. Charm City has its, well, charms, and, as it turns out, so does this ride. I learned about this ride from my friend Paris who I ran into a couple of years ago when I was visiting Baltimore. Paris was in the middle of the ride and having a blast. So, it went on my to-do list.

Things didn’t start particularly well. I had hoped that my friend Linel, bike commuter and mama to Daphne the wonder dog, was hoping to join me. Sadly she bailed last night. So I did the ride solo.

The ride is a counterclockwise circuit of the city of Baltimore. The route passes through eight city parks. Along the way, the ride shows off the city’s extensive bike route system, including the Jones Falls, Gwynns Falls, and Herring Run Trails.

The trails and the city could use a lot of sprucing up. Some of the trails were riddled with tree routes. Some of them are signed routes on sidewalks.  The city is a strange mix of beautifully restored and maintained old buildings, hundreds of row houses, and a depressing number of dilapidated buildings, commercial, industrial, and residential. It struck me as sad that I was riding through slums with a view of a publicly funded football stadium in the distance.

Normally, I bring a point and shoot camera with me.  And I did today. I forgot to charge its battery so there would be no picture taking on the fly.

Enough depressing stuff. The ride itself began in very comfortable temperatures with pleasant breezes. Since it begins on a trail there is a long string of bicycles for the first five miles. You just have to be chill, and I was. Not having a working camera or anyone riding with me made for a very meditative mood. I’d get into my trance focusing on my legs spinning then snap out of it when another rider would do something unexpected (like veer in front of me, stop in the middle of the trail, etc.)

The scenery varied. Druid Hill Park, the Cylburn Arboretum, and Gwynns Falls and Leaking Park were all stellar. They provided dense shade and rippling streams. At one point we went through Dickeyville, a 19th century village. The road wound past stone walls and picket fences. Beautiful.

Long stretches of the ride were on city streets. Traffic was practically non existent. This let me get my speed fix. My Cross Check may weight a lot but it can roll nicely.

After Leaking Park we rode to the Inner Harbor, passing briefly through Carroll Park.  Near the inner harbor we climbed to Federal Hill Park with its views of the harbor.

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After the inner harbor we went to Patterson Park where we had a rest stop at a pagoda. This is such a beautiful structure and a stop you really need to make if you ever visit. It’s not always open. (It was today but I passed on taking in the view from the top. I’ve climbed the steps many times before.)

 

 

 

 

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Just behind the pagoda there was a yoga class wrapping up on the lawn. Shucks, I missed it.

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The ride headed on city streets into the northeastern section of the city.  Clifton Park seemed more about playing fields than most of the rest of the parks. This was followed by Herring Run Park, where there was a rest stop at 32 miles. My cue sheet had a big 35 on the front so I wondered why a rests top was needed three miles from the finish. The answer was that the ride was actually 37 miles long.

Once we entered the Inner Harbor area we were riding on shadeless streets and the temperature was in the low 90Fs, warmer still because of all the asphalt and the masonry row houses.

So what’s a couple more miles when your cookin’, right. As it turns out the last two miles were in shady Druid Hill Park. Ahh.

On the way up the next to last hill, I ran into John Roche pulling daughter Ellie in a trailer. John used to live in DC, but he and his wife Kate left town a couple of years ago. We chatted for a minute. Ellie was looking pretty wiped out. They headed home and I headed to the finish for a burger (excellent), a hot dog (meh), and a cold beer (might fine).

Before leaving for DC, I stopped by John’s house. I expected Ellie to be asleep but she was full of energy. The last time I saw John and Kate, Kate was past her due date, so this was my first time to hang out with Ellie. She’s a charmer. She speaks a form of English only day care teachers can translate. Talking to her was a bit like watching a French movie; I could understand a word here and there, but it was hard work. After an hour or so, I headed back to DC.

I think the drive home was harder than the ride. I was groggy from the heat.

Bottom line: this is a ride well worth doing. It is a good companion ride to the Tour du Port event that I’ve done four or five times.

 

Deets Turns Five as I Thank the Bike Gods

I was preparing to change into my riding clothes to head for home. My clothes and reading material go in one pannier, my shoes and my lock in the other. So I pick up my shoe pannier and immediately notice my lock is in the pannier.

Yep, I didn’t lock my bike this morning. I rolled it into the bike room at work, leaned it against a floor rack, and left. I have never done this before. Ever.

I went down to the bike room with a sense of dread. Deets, my Surly Cross Check, was my ride today. My newest bike. I swiped my access card and waited as the garage door rose. Slowly. So slowly.

And there it was. Right where I left it.

It would have sucked if someone had stolen it. They would have ridden it somewhere and they would have seen the odometer flip to 5,000 miles.  The bike gods were kind to me today.

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