Back in the day

One of the reasons I am not fond of the late warning (the one where their front wheel is visible by the time it's offered) is because back in the day they would have played hell in trying to pass me. Most of them anyway. For sure some of them would have struggled. Definitely some of the older ones would never have gotten by me.


It also often scares the hell out of me. When you get old body parts start deciding that they've gone as far as they're going to go and a few years back my left ear decided it had heard enough and shut itself off.

So when some tool sneaks up on me and waits till he's close enough to go steady before offering his "you sorry sorry old man, I'm passing your lame ass self on the left!" I have to process that through my right ear which means my brain thinks it's coming from the right which means I have a moment of complete chaos rattling around in my brain before it all settles in and I know what's happening. Couple that with the tinnitus in my deaf ear (there's a constant little joie de vivre going on in there - it's awesome!) and you begin to see the problem.

Anyway, yesterday found me on the CCT again. There's a shortcut where I jump to it for about a mile or so and then off it again. So I'm moving along in no particular hurry but anxious to get off the CCT and I hear this DRRRRING DRRRRING DRRRRING. Then I hear it again and I'm thinking now here's someone who wants you to know they're coming! Well done dude!

Except dude was a wee lad about 11 or 12 years old and he was cookin with gas. 

I long ago gave up these unannounced "races" that happen on the trails. I figure they're just damn lucky it's not back in the day, by gawd. 

But this wee lad! Dang! My urge was to give the rascal a good what fer. I was all ready to yell out "It's Hammer Time!" when my exit came up. Next time kid.

The problem is next time puts me another day further away from back in the day. 

Springtime and love is in the air

Every spring (and a lot of winter, summer and fall) my mind turns to buying a new bike. Usually I start looking at bikes I have no need of or are impractical or just plain stupid. I'm all about the stupid.

In the past I've purchased an A-bike (yes, it's true), a Strida (yes, it's true), belt drive, shaft drive, folder, clunkers, bikes too small and bikes too big.

This spring an old man's fancy has turned to the mini-velo. I'm all about the mini-velo. Specifically this mini-velo:

Dahon Bullhead

I've thought about this one but it only has 3 speeds and I'm too old for that:

Cannondale Hooligan

They do have an 8 speed but it's not an internal gear and I'm all about the internal gear. Besides it's called Hooligan. For me to ride something called Hooligan I'd have to shed about 5 decades and get a tattoo.  The Dahon is called Bullhead, like Bullhead Shark. I think when I'm riding it it will be more like the Bullhead catfish.

My reasoning behind this is that I love jumping on my Downtube folder when bombing around town. It's zippy. I'm all about the zippy. What I don't like is it gets a little wishy washy when hammering out of the seat and the long stem feels as solid as my girlfriend riding on gravel. 

And it's cool looking, which of course is subjective but I'm now officially pretty damn cool. I have one of these:

So you have to listen to me when I tell you that. It's one of the perks of being cool. 

This isn't impulse buying. Impulse buying is buying when you don't think about it. 

No, I give it lots of thoughts. So many thoughts that I often confuse myself and get really frustrated and don't know what the hail to do. I look at the pictures and try and find reviews and then ignore it for weeks on end and then get drawn back to it like a tattootool to the local parlor. I work myself up into such a way that the only peace of mind I'm going to get is to one day just buy it and be done with it. It really comes down to being able to breathe a sigh of relief.  

This is called stupid buying.

But the sigh of relief is short lived because then I have to worry about it and wonder why I did it and don't even know if I'll like the damned thing cause I've never ridden it and I don't need another bike anyway.

This is called stupid buyers remorse. 

I haven't bought it yet but I can tell I'm entering that phase where it will soon drive me nuts if I don't. 

I have issues. I'm all about the issues.

One flu into the cuckoo's nest

This is one too many - second cold this winter and I usually go years between them. Still, having a bad cold should not keep one from getting some exercise. I've read that exercise is good for the cold.
Friday was a very nice day and even though I had called in sick I decided I wasn't that sick. So bundle I did and off I went.

I was perhaps 6 to 7 miles out when I started having some trouble with my balance. I was also feeling dizzy. I wasn't sure what was going on but maybe I had been foolish to head out. Well that couldn't be 'cause my mom told me she didn't raise no fool and I'm not buying that my mom lied to me all those years. No, I was fine when I headed out, a bit of a cough was all.

But there was no denying that my usual total control of the bike (ignoring ice of course) was not up to par. I was having trouble concentrating and I simply did not want to go on.

The return trip was arduous. Every little incline was the worst hill I'd ever climbed in my life. The tiniest bumps dragged the prayer out of me. This whole idea of riding a bike becomes more ridiculous with each passing moment. What a stupid way to go about the day. This was the invention of some mad man casting his demon vehicle on the world. On a bike you have one goal, don't fall over. Every little effort is given in trying to accomplish that task. I can manage to not fall over standing next to the damned thing. It's a stupid vehicle.
By the time I reached home I was done. I struggled to get the bike inside and staggered up the stairs and into bed and there I stayed.

Roughly 13 hours later and my nap was over. I'm starving and feel like shite. This isn't the flu it's the black death. I need to find a good bloodletter.

So I'm coughing up yuck and reading the newspaper and thinking about funny things to say about black death and hating the bike because I'm sick and I read the inventor of that Paratrooper mountain bike has passed away. Cripes.
I've always wanted one of those because I go to Spain quite a bit and do some long mountain bike trips there. I keep a bike there but it's cheap getting long in the tooth and I want something that's easier to store. Maybe I will this year.

77 seems so young. A truth known only to those who live long enough to know it: being on the young side of old doesn't last nearly as long as being on the old side of young. 

Rest in peace Mr. Montague.

Fall down go boom revisited

The almighty of all things can be cruel to the lowly bicyclist - sudden thunder storms, hail storms from nowhere, lousy weathermen and women, a mighty wind.
None of these compares with ice. Ice is the big one. The top, the coliseum, the Louvre, the...

Having recently claimed the title of the King of Take No Risk biking today I found myself wondering where I went wrong.

It all started when I went off to a meeting in Bethesda which always finds me on the CCT which I avoid like a critical mass ride. The CCT was mostly passable but had several icy patches, some of which were 30 to 40 yards long and covered most of the trail.

When I encountered these I would dismount and shuffle along trying not to lose my footing. Well, I saw quite a few morning commuters just blast through them with confidence. A few did some fixie braking rear end maneuvers but all managed to stay upright. I was impressed.

After my meeting I was heading home and thought, hell, am I man or mouse? This isn't hard, keep the momentum, keep 'er straight, go with conviction. I've certainly done it in the past and don't know why I'm being all wussboy today.

So with a new found confidence I was looking forward to my first stretch of ice to show the almighty of all things that the lowly biker can take it. Bring it on!

I entered the ice shelf and the first thing I noticed was how beautiful the top of the trees look with the winter sky. As we bustle and hustle through our busy days we too often don't take the time to pause and enjoy. This was a truly breathtaking scene. No. Wait. I could breathe fine so it didn't actually take my breath. Anyway, as many times as I've ridden the CCT I don't recall ever seeing the tops of the trees against the sky.

I reluctantly pulled myself away from this marvelous view as my bike and me had slowly slid to a stop. I stood up and wrestled that thing off to the side where is wasn't quite as slippery.

So I asked myself, where did I go wrong? It's possible that those impressive riders from the morning had thicker and better tires, even with studs. I was riding my thin tired bike. Yes, that was it. I'm certain.
More likely is that the younger you are the shorter the fall and as you get older that fall increases. And you land harder and you get up slower and you don't want to do it again and you hesitate.
And hesitation leads to falls which lead to landing harder which leads to getting up slower which leads to not wanting to do it again which leads to hesitation.

So I renounce my crown as King of Take No Risk Biking. It would seem I'm still as stupid as I was 20 years ago. I'm just getting up slower.

Oh the weather outside

I want to be a weatherman. Its the perfect job. You can be wrong when it counts and you won't get fired. People will still tune in and listen to what you say. They'll plan their day around what you say.

When it comes to weather forecasts I think the majority of us only require something that's in the ball park. When the weatherman says "hey, it's going to be sunny all day" and then a few clouds roll by we're not going to get too upset. Even if a short little rain cloud passes by we're still good.
Truth is most of the year we don't care. Those few days a year when the weather gets real nasty is when we care. And all we ask for is something in the ball park.

Recently the weatherman called for 1 to 3 inches of snow and it ended up sunny and in the high 30's to low 40's without a flake to be found. The weatherman missed the ball park.

When it comes to riding with a bunch of 1 to 3 ton vehicles being piloted by some tool who's drinking coffee and chatting on the phone when there's snow and ice and gloom of dawn I'm expecting them to at least turn their lights on. I'm in that ball park. I got my lights blazing.

In the last week I've counted 4 bikers who were riding in the road at dawn without any lights at all. None. This isn't on some deserted country lane, this is on a main artery into town. There be cars. Lots of them.

Now, my personal morning fog is as thick as the next blokes. I could speak if I had to but I would rather not. Going down stairs is puzzling. I could use some help with my socks and my shoes.
But I've never been so out of it that I managed to find my darkest clothes, mount my steed, ignore the lights and head out into traffic.

Cloudy dark wintry mornings are no time to go all ninja. You want to be a team player. Some kind of survival instinct should cut through the fog and takes care of this ball park thing. If it's not then the road ain't no place for ya.

No problem

I used to get upset at riders who can't be bothered with a good loud early warning. This "on your left", usually barked around the time their front wheel is visible to you, isn't a warning, it's an announcement that they just passed your sorry behind.

I've always found the W&OD to be a nice ride, aside, you know, from the pack riders. There's joggers and runners and old folks out for a walk and people out with their dogs and kids - and a bunch of middle aged tools riding as fast as they can scaring the hell out of 'em.

I've been surprised many times by the get out of my way crowd and have on occasion exchanged a word or two with them. No more.

The very honorable governor of Virginia has ordered an immediate end to a ban on firearms carried openly in Virginia state parks. 

As surprising as that is I found it even more of a shocker to find out that, if you're a licensed gun toter, you can pretty much carry a weapon on you anytime and anywhere. I thought that was only in Arizona and other states that should be allowed to secede from the union.


Damn.


Maybe it's not a big ol' gut those aging tools got there but a big ol' holster carrying some kind of semi automatic. If I was packin I'd be all up in your face too. The mystery of the asshole biker is revealed, at least in the grand state of Virginia. A Trek Madone and a Glock is an awesome combination and just knowing that they could have that combo is enough for me.


When I'm riding in Virginia and some tool passes me without warning my only thought will be, no problem.

Tattoo who two

 The Mentawai people of Siberut are a tattoo'd lot. For them it's all about nature and the soul and good spirits.

To the modern day American it's all about hipness and cool (and I speak with some authority on this subject, having recently received an iPad).

The native peoples tattoo's often tell a story (the tattoos on the Dyak tells the stories of head hunting expeditions). The late 20th and early 21st century tattootools is geared toward the "me me me" as much as it is to the "I belong to this tribe and this is our story".

I recently encountered a group of tatootools, who had just finished the feast of the Big Mac ceremony, as they darted out into the wildeSUV's, dashing across and through their grazing lanes, sending the herd into a panic.

This caused a great snorting from the large beasts. They will be huffing and puffing about the tattootools in the comments and letters to the editor for weeks to come.

The Bicycle Film Festival (who knew) has a film called "Empire" that captures the tatootools in the wild.