Sunday, December 27, 2009


"The guy that can only sleep with his girlfriend, help all his friends, and not be frustrated with himself at the same time."

Seriously? I mean really? Can I google that? Order him from Amazon? Bid on it on Ebay?

Are you yanking my chain?! Could that possibly exist? Well I can't wait. Go figure. I will learn to make my own pancakes damn it. Or I will starve. There you have it.

How hard can it be? Wake up, make coffee, flour, milk, eggs. Vanilla. I love vanilla. In my coffee, in my coke, in my pancakes. No fruit, no chocolate, just syrup. Just the way I like it, thank me very much.

Ah, if you want it done, and you want it, learn to make your own pancakes. I get it! And I know. I like them in the morning, after coffee, at my table. Or for dinner, at my table. The table I made myself, metal, screws, wood. Yes, pancakes by myself. Punk you very much!

Wise words, from a Wiseman. Grab a gear and go.... First a few of my own: don't break the cycle, break the chain. And every cyclist knows comfort lies in taking care of the corr.

Wise words, good goals. Bring mug, have coffee...AND TABLE. No scratchy.

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Take It To The Bank

I’ve been thinking. About Share the Road and rewarding behavior, like HOV lanes. I came up with a plan. I’d really like to implement it after being damn near sideswiped by a hulking SUV.

It’s the snow. All over my lane. Bulldozed into spaces in the overcrowded parking lots. Cars idling idlely waiting for spots to buy stuff to replace stuff that will end up in land fills. Lonely tailgating; no game, no beer. Just cars circling spots like musical chairs. Not at all green.

Back to the lanes. That one on the right, beware. It may disappear into the salt and pepper, gritty abyss. It should be for slower traffic anyway. Take University or Connecticut, where there are three.

Here’s my plan….keep three lanes, but make that right one small. Keep those gas guzzlers out of my lane! Give it to the bikers, the hybrids (the economy ones), the smart cars. Start making cars smaller and give them a lane!

Oh, but what about the buses? The violent offenders. You have a valid point. They will have to use that lane. But that SUV would have taken off my visor if I had turned my head. No joke.

Well, the plan may have some bugs but think about it. Positive reinforcement is money in the snow bank.

Sunday, December 20, 2009

All Flakes Welcome

Careful what you put out there! They just might take you up on it.
PS the bike rack is covered, park where you can.

Saturday, December 19, 2009

Still Stationary

What a difference a day makes.

Friday, December 18, 2009

Stationary Bike Redefined.

Like riding a tree through a cornfield.

Friday, December 11, 2009

Grease On Earth

Okay, I found myself in another Hollywood script. Actually the same one, Trading Places.

No credit issues this time, just the rubber hitting the road....or is it the road hitting the rubber??

Picture it: 20 effingham degrees. Frozen tundra. 4am. Dark. Cold. Beyond breezy. L7, cuz no matter how hard I try I just am.

It takes a crazy kind of bravery to pull off a lobster, but I do. I'm not about to wrestle metal for the second day in a row. I nurse the flat. And nurse and nurse and nurse. I'm racing frames...I thought I put those days behind me??

The pump fails. Here's where I re-enter Trading Places. I consider swiping someone's back tire. Really, I did. I mean, who really locks those...usually it's just the front. And I am desperate to get to work. I just need an inflated back wheel.

I'll bring it back. I'll leave mine. Hell, that's a $200 just needs a new tube. That's hardly's holiday upgrading, tis the season, ho, ho, ho, merry, merry...why you buggin'?

I didn't steal anything. I rode the rim. I am over due to re-tire!

Wednesday, December 9, 2009


They don’t get out much, but when they do, they turn heads. My plates, that is. Sincerely, they are the talk of the town. Everyone notices them. Everyone loves them.

They must. Montgomery County loved them so much they took pictures AND sent them to me. Just like marathon proofs.

There wasn’t any line to choose which pictures you wanted but I went ahead and sent my $40 anyway. Maybe I’ll get all three? Come to think of it there wasn’t even a place to choose what size you wanted.

They’re gonna send actual pictures, right? I mean I paid the 40 bucks. Isn’t that how it works?

Sunday, December 6, 2009

What the?

4 legs 2 heads.

Friday, December 4, 2009


Escort your own self out.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Moving On Up


Your rise is a crime.
Behind bars of this rhyme
Seeking reprieve
Forced to take leave
My words lost, out of time.

Half filed in a drawer,
Half talk to the floor;
Your method obscene
Like a misguided teen
On track to simply Produce more.

Never a word found in kind
Slumped by the wheel of this grind.
This exchange has turned petty.
Dear God I am ready
To leave this brown box behind.

names have not been changed to protect the guilty

Monday, November 16, 2009

Friday, November 13, 2009


Alan Bean. Astronaut. Artist.

Moon Marathon. Yeah, moooon marathon. That's what HE said. I like the sound of that Bean. A marathon. On. The. Moon. My joints collectively say, aaaaaahhhhh.

I can see it now. The runners' Shuttle. The start line. The newly discovered water station. The finisher's medal. Moon rock on a tether. Come to think of it let's make it a double. A double marathon. 52.4 moon miles.

Oooh, but think of that entry fee. Steep. And what on earth (ha) would you wear? How could you possibly dress for that weather. Temperature controlled space suit anyone?

Thursday, November 5, 2009


Ordinarily not a problem, but I wasn't sure how to lug an entire tire to the tire store via bicycle.
Give me a second, I'll figure it's round for Pete's sake.
Cuz you know I want to lock my bicycle to this sign!

Thursday, October 29, 2009

The Long and Bumpy Road

Life is not always what it seems. What's that saying...better safe than sorry? You don't always know and you're not always right. Everything I ever needed to know I learned from my bicycle.

I got lost. Then, I got a flat. Or did I get a flat and then lost? Either neither, neither either; let's call the whole thing *cough*

Regardless, I whacked my back wheel. HARD. You know the kind, where you obsess about the pressure for the next 8 blocks. You glance back, you question the air, you actually stop, dismount, and push on the tire. Yeah, like that.

Lo and Ecce! I was ridin' on the rim. Did I mention late? I was also L7. So I tried the down and dirty: pump 'er back up. Back on the rim in two. Gonna have to pit it.

So I strip the tire, yank the tube, and....hesitate. The conscientious cyclist would check the tire for punctures; you know, run your hand along the inside to feel for glass and sharp matter. But this was a pot hole casualty and I was pumping the pavement. I needed to make like Opal.

But I stopped, and humored myself. I ran my fingers over the rubber. *ouch* What the? Industrial staple. Chomping on my tube. I may have whacked my wheel, but the tube held. It wasn't a pot hole after all, but a sharp metal object that flattened my kicks.

So let that be a lesson, or two, or three. First, don't assume that you know. You don't know what you don't know to quote Rumy. Second, take your time do it right, so says SOS Band. And thirdly, look thoroughly for the problem and find a way to fix it. Who said it? Aren't you listening...I'm saying it!

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

A Puppy In The Road

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Thanks For That

Let’s talk etiquette. Race day fan etiquette.

1. Try not to step on feet…runners are gonna need theirs and I don’t want you on mine.
2. Port-0-Johns at the start line pre-race should be for runners. Could you maybe hold it 10 more minutes so a racer isn’t late?
3. Tall in back, short in front. Really just apply this across the board.
4. Stay off the course, especially en masse.
5. If your racer is 2 hours away, yield the curb Biotch

Okay seriously, this will cover the next 5 and pull up a chair:

Most of us are out there to see a runner. There are 30,000 runners. I know it’s important to see each other, I’ve been on both sides. But there are 30,000 runners. Chances are you are trying to see ONE. I am also trying to see ONE.

Finding each other is key. Your tall funny hats are great and cute…get in back! You’ve seen your runner….get in back! Your sign, oh your sign! Just get in back!

Seriously, your sign is huge. You are standing in front, in the course, with a HUGE sign over your head. I just missed 15 runners because of you. My photo opportunity….not even photoshop can solve this one.

I know it says RUN BRIAN RUN. Rude. 30,000 runners, you’re blocking 50 other fans’ views, and your sign isn’t even generic? Meanwhile runners are passing, missing their support, and it may cost them the race. Thanks for that.

Is Brian even near? I suppose some Brian could be, at least it’s not Haliz-Ewan. I started keeping track; I saw quite a few. But it doesn’t stop me from wanting to pink slip your sign!

Oh, and balloons? Good like tall goofy hat. Get in back! If a runner has to duck to avoid your prop and again and again….you are in the course, rude, selfish, and need to

I am so not a fan.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009


That's using your feet?

I would have gone further but my thumbs got tired. Thumbs. They haven't the practice of being heels.

Seems somewhere between P1 and 2 my gloves got displaced. Misplaced? Replaced.

You do what you can to get by. Funny thing is I think they may have been warmer than most of my gloves. Then again, it's wasn't that cold.

Can someone take my picture? Anyone? Anyone?

Monday, October 19, 2009

Carwinian Effect

You are going to want to sit down for this one. I am about to spit one for the automobile.

I champion pedestrian safety maybe more than the next guy, but even I have my limits. There is a difference between accident prevention and protecting stoopid.

Here's a thought: if you're gonna jaywalk, be smart about it. If you are wearing an ipod, molesting your phone, or just plain NOT looking, I should get to hit you. No questions asked.

OK, maybe not. But I'm just saying....and I know I'm not alone in this. And really, me, the quiet, pedaling pixie poses much less threat than the clunky car careening down the street.

That you would hear, right? I mean if you weren't jammin' an ipod and getting to second with your cell. But a motorless bicycle slips right by; while you note, you'd notice an automobile noising through the neighborhood.

Have you ever heard of a Hybrid? Amazing. More efficient, less pollutant. Air and noise. Did you hear that? No, I don't guess you did. It's a Hybrid, and it's quiet. Really quiet.

Yeah, wait it out. Enough idiots will step in their paths that Nadar will step in and make them crash Dummy proof. Soon enough Prii will come with sidewalk sirens--standard.

So much for Survival of The Fittest. Passing on your LEFT!

Monday, October 12, 2009


Shitty Or Priceless. How would you define your life? What is it worth? An extra 5 minutes? One dollar off?

Metro prides itself on safety and has been eating crow. They have been throwing employees under the bus. Their union stood up and said no.

They are reverting back to Standard Operating Procedures. At the cost of time?!? But bikers will beat the buses. Are they crazy, bosses don't understand. They never do.

Unions are in place to protect America. Not just the workers, but you and me. The UAW ensures that cars are made in a safe manner. IBEW keeps electricity flowing safely. The ILGWU made sure wardrobe malfunctions never popped out a nipple during a half time show.

SAG gives us good entertainment. WGA makes sure of it. When they strike, we suffer. Or get amazing things like Dr. Horrible. It's a win win win so to speak.

But we sacrifice safety for convenience. I for one am glad to see SOP back on top; it was created for a reason. And I will ride 14th a little more confidently instead of wrestling with Merto buses. I hope it sticks.

Sunday, October 11, 2009


Almost 20 years ago I marched on Washington with my girlfriend. She was a lipstick lesbian who protested everything. I had an L on the breast of my shirt, but I popped in and out of the closet like an episode of Laverne and Shirley.

I saw an S & M group behind the White House. I gawked at cross dressers. I questioned why such a small group excluded bisexuals. I watched the media circle the freaks. The NPS play down the numbers. Governor Clinton make his rounds. That was before he didn't ask and we didn't tell.

Two decades later we are still fighting the same fight. I lost the girlfriend, married, and divorced. I lived the legal life. It ain't all it's cracked up to be. The gays aren't destroying what the homo sapiens have already exploited.

Today I still refuse to define myself. Labels are for clothes and clothes live in closets. But I was a flag flying fag friend all the way up 14th Street. People looked, they smiled, they honked. No more stone throwing, threats, or curses. I would have proudly held my girlfriend's hand.

We fight the same fight, but times have changed. People are people and families all look the same. No one wants a bedroom policed. Everyone wants to be loved. How is this still an issue?

Thursday, October 8, 2009


Makes me want to drive more.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Lit Out Of Luck

I don't care what they say, I got skills. Mad Skillz. Crazy McGyver skeels.

I can make fire with a stick. I can make dinner with condiment packs. I can make love outta nuthin' at all. Out of nuthin' at all!

I can fashion safety from a flashlight, zip ties, and foam. But back lighting will kill you. It ain't a lick a good under the burning ball of gas of day.

You can show a man a stop sign and teach him how to brake. But you gotta make him look. Mission Accomplished. One simple, loud HEY! Late, but he looked. Stopped dead in the street and looked me straight in the eye. And put it in reverse.

First I watched him yield through a stop, turning right, looking the same, never stopping, never looking left. See, I'm smarter than the average gas pedal. I knew what he was up to.

Then I screamed in his open window as I rolled up on his driver's side door. I know how to use my brake. He froze, there in the street, looking at the cyclist he almost turned into Flat Stanley.

Thanks for that!

Thursday, October 1, 2009

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Trail Bail

Here’s a thought. You get so mad when I’m not utilizing the trail. Unfortunately the trail speed limit is 15mph.

It has come to my attention that DC drivers rarely have the opportunity to travel at speeds greater than 15mph. In fact oftentimes you all drive under 5mph.

I’m willing to share. Feel free to drive on the trail. I mean sometimes you guys drive on the sidewalk; go on, take the trail. Remember 15 mph and you still have to yield to pedestrians.

We’ll take the road. You take the trail. Let me know how that works out. I mean you always want to know why we aren’t on it. Figure out how to get to work and the store and a doctor’s appointment… hell get me a bikable google map.

Have fun.

Monday, September 28, 2009

Enjoy The View

The worst offenders are always in the park. The scenic park. Perhaps it's the existence of a bike trail? To me that's like apples and oranges. Sidewalks versus trails. I don't hike on a sidewalk and I certainly ain't waiting for a bus in the forest.

It was Rock Creek. Non Rush. Not that it matters. No side trail. NOT THAT IT MATTERS.

Yet there it was, from behind, like always, the all too familiar *#honk!@* Oh really? You don't say. When, without pause, as if it were premeditated and expected, I removed my weapon from its holster and armed myself to shoot.

A van passed. I took aim and took my shot. Wrong vehicle. My bad. I bet it's this one nudging me into the forest. Me on the line, him in his lane as if a vulnerable, innocent human being weren't balancing on the non existent white line.

"Dumb Shit!" out the window as his side mirror grazes my bag. "Say Cheese!" I think as I snap Exhibit A. He never slowed, never yielded, caught in my digital pixel.

A third car passes, gently, but not without commentary. An arm extends from the passenger side window. "You too?" I'm just trying to turn in my paperwork to get my Share The Road license plates, which apparently I need on my bicycle. Please!

But wait! As I'm weighing my finger retaliation options I notice a thumb. He's not flipping me off he's applauding my effort! Thumbs up for the picture taking pixie. Back at you buddy, thanks for the support!

For the record this isn't a joy ride, it's my commute. And this ain't Utrecht! Build me a trail network and we'll talk. Currently it's like a fish without a bicycle. Until then if you aren't on the beltway, enjoy the view.

Friday, September 25, 2009

Sister Hazy

And how dare you not remember?
And how dare you walk away?

And I wanted you so much
Just like I do right now
I wanted us to be the one
The poets write their books about

I wanted it to last
I wanted to grow old
But life got in the way

What's a biker to do, but roll with it

Monday, September 21, 2009


Timbuk2 and Beyond!

Friday, September 18, 2009

News To Me

13 and a half years ago I plopped myself down in a chair in front of a monitor and 6 tiny teevees. I had 6 red plungers that lit up when I mashed them as some unseen voice beckoned, “ROLL”.

Sitting back in my tiny, black cove swallowing the day’s news was challenging. Story after story, face after face. When I went home at night and closed my eyes I could still see a 2 ½ inch version of the missing girl of the week.

Names like Shaquita Bell, Joyce Chiang, Caity Mahoney, Sophia Silva, and Kristin and Katie Lisk still hang in my broadcast cache. Serial killing was hot that year. Andrew Cunanan and Richard Evonitz claimed more than their allotted 15 minutes of fame.

“Two boys in 1999 walked into their high school heavily armed emptying countless shells along the way dropping classmates like flies. Columbine, Paducah, Mississippi, Georgia, Nickel Mines, VaTech.

Brazill, Tate, Mangum, Abraham. “These kids committed crimes that were brutal…that doesn’t make them adults. It just makes us wish they were—and wish we could lock them up forever and forget them.”

The Capitol shooting, Holocaust museum, Muhammad and Malvo. "Be still and know that I am God." Sarah Ramos, Conrad Johnson, Premkumar Walekar, Sonny Buchanan, Lori Rivera, Pascal Charlot, Linda Franklin, Dean Meyers, Kenneth Bridges. Iran Brown.

September 11th. Hurricane Katrina. Princess Diana. Monica Lewinski. OJ Simpson. 2000 Election. Part II. Saddam Hussein. Afghanistan, Iraq. What’s that terrorist’s name? The first black President.

Abortion, gay rights, stem cells, torture, corruption, domestic violence, hate crimes, cancer, aids. Olympic Bombing, Elizabeth Smart, Jonbenet, Annika in PGA, Larry Craig, Martha Stewart ex-con.

Joe Gibbs, Pettibon, Norv Turner, Robiskie, Schottenheimer, Steve Spurrier, Gibbs, Zorn. Hike.

Black Oscars, Janet’s Super Bowl nipple, Ellen’s gay, Greta Van Susteren’s new face. Dan Rather steps down, Walter Cronkite dies, Jay Leno leaves. Lance Wins Seven, Chastain Bears Bra, Granato Grabs Gold, WNBA Forms, WUSA Folds.

Johnny Carson, Jack Paar, Charles Schulz, Hanna of Barbera, Peter Jennings, Mother Theresa, Pope John Paul II, Ronald Reagan, Michael Jackson, Ray Walston, Dave Thomas, David Brinkley, Yasser Arafat, Christopher Reeve, Maude, The Joker, Johnnie Cochran, Ossie Davis, Bernie Mac, James Brown, Rosa Parks, Coretta Scott King, Anna Nicole, Kurt Vonnegut, Tammy Faye, Pavarotti, Charlton Heston, Patrick Swazye, Teddy Kennedy, Alice Swanson.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

What Strays In Texas Stays In Texas

I don’t cheat, not even at solitaire. I mean I’m not much of a mono-anything…monotonous, monotheistic, monophobe, monodactyl, monogamous…

Well, there was this one time at RAAM camp…But that was one time, one instant, somewhere in the middle of Texas. It was 108 degrees; it wasn’t my fault. But typically I'm pretty faithful.

Imagine my surprise when a complete stranger propositioned me. There I was sweaty and wet, helmet head no doubt, looking pretty ragged and he wants to take me to bed? What’s a girl to think? Do I or don’t I?

I was flattened, well, almost. There he was at a side street, me on a heavily traveled, slightly congested road; you may have thought he didn’t even see me. Oh, that’s what I thought.

So when he pulled out in front of me so close I could spit in his open window, I yelled, “HI!” And you won’t believe this, he said, “HI,” back! I know!

I don’t know, maybe it was me; maybe I hit on him first. I DID initiate the conversation. He certainly TRIED to hit on me. And he flashed his hecock feathers and flirted across the street…two lanes of traffic, horns honking. I threw him one more line, “You are pulling out in front of me!”

That’s when it happened. Those two little words a lonely girl longs to hear…”FUCK YOU!” Isn’t he sweet? How romantic.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009


OH! I didn't think you'd really want to keep
jbugs out with a cockpit cover, but now I get it!
Katyak: yeah, it's like that.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009


I am not a religious person, but I am spiritual. Be assured there is no Church in this state. I won’t preach my case, I’ll simply say my god has but a wee g.

-Wee g. Teehee, insert unintentional laugh here. Wee-g. haha-

I believe in energy. I can express it through color. I believe it interacts with other energy and creates life. Some call this karma. Some fate. But you do have control.

It also interacts with street lights. I turn them off a lot, A LOT. I don’t think this is good. Perhaps my energy level is low or bad and it sucks the energy right out of the lamp. Lately I’ve turned a few on, but additionally I’ve turned more off.

I feel like my energy is yellow, but it needs to be orange. Orange is change. It also feels a little blue, light blue, and that is a good thing.

I might not have a job, but I will always tuck myself into my own bed every night. Not everyone does. A man came up to me tonight and asked for spare change.

“Brother, all I got is change.”

Monday, September 14, 2009

5 Sets 3 Operators

Even machines will fail.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Keep Yer Feet Offa Our Street

Hell NO, Walking's SLOW! The overwhelming message painting the lawns of this anti-green street: Not In Our Neighborhood.

We don't want your fat kids sweating 'round our yard. Keep your pup's unmentionables out our hood. Bring your stinking 'hicles and drive as fast as you like; we don't encourage pedestrian activity and we don't aim to hide it.

We don't have sidewalks, speed bumps, slow humps, tables, or stripes. Sick of hitting pedestrians in crosswalks? No worries...we ain't got none. Come to town and mow 'em down. Law's on your side.

Go on and stick that foot up our asphalt, cuz we ain't budgin' our precious lawns. And we sure ain't shovelin' no sidewalks.

ADA be damned. Sidewalk Smidewalk Assurance Act my ass. Keep your concrete offa our feet! We pay a lot of money for our nicely manicured lawns. You can stick your stimulus up someone else's grass!

Saturday, September 5, 2009

Peripheral Angel

Git your shit and git out.

That dude is wearing an armchair as a helmet. I'm just noticing. I'm just saying. He really is. No joke. In case you missed it.

Which brings up a brilliant point in these tough economic times. What do we bike commuters do when our bosses herd us into their offices at completely random times in our lives and hand us the proverbial pink slip, which by the way is no longer pink nor a slip as times turn green.

How do we gather our clothes, our tupperware, our boxes of contacts and photos and notes from our nieces, not to mention our egos, and sling them upon our backs to pedal our teary eyes home after learning the fate of our carefully crafted careers??

If only we all had a guardian angel to run along side us making sure we continue on straight without running ourselves right off the path or into another biker. Because it's hard to see with tears in your eyes and an armchair on your head. I would suspect.

Although perhaps, it's not necessarily a good idea to start removing office furniture in order to make up for the lost wages. I'm just saying, merely mentioning, offering friendly advice...

Thursday, September 3, 2009


Look it's a car, no it's the moon, no silly it's a biker. I have no idea what it was; too much light makes the biker go blind.

There is too much of a good thing. If you just let your eyes adjust to the dark you can see just fine. The moon IS full. It's bright outside, really.

But if your headlamp is blinding me you aren't being very polite. I can't see I tell you! Great for you. But what do you think that does to a motorist? Do you really want to blind someone driving a car directly at you?? Did you think this through when you had to have the biggest, brightest, 'best' light?

And let's talk about the walkers. You know 'em. They are the ones that let you have it in the daylight. That yell and lecture about yelling LEFT. They speak of not knowing you are there and how they want to be alerted to your presence...

Hmmm....and do you think they thought that through as they meandered through the darkness ?? As I barrel down the dimly lit path into on coming waaaaaalkers! YIKES!

Sorry....LEFT you for dead in the middle of the path, I hope they can find your dark clothed ass. You should really carry a bell.

Monday, August 31, 2009

Have You A Box In Your Pocket?

This is a box. Not just any box, a coveted, white bowed, blue, Tiffany box. If you are of the double x chromosome variety you knew this 27 words ago.

Never listen to a girl if she says she doesn't care about jewelry, fanciness, or names on the box. When it comes to holding a Tiffany box all bets are off.

But it's not just the bow, the box, or the is backed by quality. Just so you know. And all girls know, so you are making a statement.

But this isn't about that. This is about the guy I saw proudly carrying a 12 pack of Bud Lite through Friendship Heights.

For the love of Christ man, pay the $0.05 bag tax and cover that shit up! This is Friendship Heights not some great American trailer park!

Tiffany is perched on the other side of the hill. Tell me, please tell me, you have another blue box tucked in your pocket with some 14k earrings for your girl and all you had left was a couple bucks for Bud, forget the Grape Nuts Flakes.

Congratulations! You spent your last 14 thousand dollars on a little blue box. There isn't a song for that, but yeah you! I'd even toast you with that lousy generic beer. It comes with a free glass of water. But not a free plastic bag.

Thursday, August 27, 2009

I Paid For That!?

Here’s a thought: don’t waste your effort on the obvious.

Of course if you run over a person standing in the middle of the street there is going to be a BUMP. The sign is unnecessary and bad advertising. It's not good for a county's image to encourage this type of behavior.

A much more effective sign might read GLASS to alert cyclists to fade left to avoid potential blowouts. This would also alert motorists to watch for weaving riders. This would in turn cause them to avoid BUMPs in the road.

But alas my tire was slashed. If I lived in PG County and drove a car I would be page 3 of the 5 o’clock news. If I lived in PG County I would naturally assume there is always glass on the shoulder.

“Someone slashed your tire!?!”

“Yeah, well I rode over some glass really. What! Somebody put it there on purpose!”

Wednesday, August 26, 2009


Hey Baby,

You, black bike, pedal pushers, tattoo on your leg, CCT.
Me, Schwinn, same, on your ass. Which was very nice I might add.

Your fixed gear caught my eye. Sexy flat black frame. Chunky chain. Sticker I couldn’t read.
You, ditto. Nice engine. Army green pants to the knee. Adorable canvas bag.

Cruising the trail, not a care in the world, wind in our…helmets. Our cadence in sync.

Whawhawhaaaa. What? DTNCTR (drag the needle cross the record)
Coasting? There’s no coasting in biking. Especially not FIXED gear biking. Is that a SS?? Whawhawaaaa! You're single. I'm fixed.

Oh hell. Attraction fleeting. You say either, I say neither; let's call the whole thing off.

Thanks for the draft.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

By Land Or By Sea

Ironically, there is no bailing in boating. You can’t get out and walk if the seat is bothering you. You can’t flake on the trail and take the road back. You can’t coast. You can’t take a shortcut.

You are, as they say, IN IT. You, have made, a commitment.

There is up. And there is back. At least there are no wrong turns. No killer hills. Typically not faced with a headwind, or I would have stayed home.

I did, however, learn a valuable lesson today. Never, I mean NEVER fall asleep on the water. No matter what; not even a 15 frame nap. One blink of an eye and flip of the boat and up becomes back or back becomes up or something. It all looks the same.

Leave it to me to get lost on a river. I mean you come one way and you get home t’other. How hard is that? There is no T in the road. No turns. No intersections. But when I turned around all of a sudden the river seemed bigger, I don't remember this; HOW LONG WAS I ASLEEP!?

Welcome to a winding calm river. Current unreadable. The sun unreliable. A rock is a rock is a rock. Not that I had a phone, but what would I ask Bean, ‘uh yeah, I’m right by a tree hanging over the water and a rock slightly submerged. There's a turtle. Can you google it and get me home?’ Yes I know, this time, there IS and app for that.

*-[p-= (Parker wanted to say this...I think she's happy I found my way home!)

Friday, August 21, 2009

Hill Shakes Tear

A bike lane. In the middle, a biker boiling. Thunder.

Biker (to Lexus). Ever wonder why you seem to be driving with such ease up the busy Chinatown corridor during rush hour on the heels of a storm?

I have a feeling you know. As I park myself upon your front bumper, you don't yell, honk, or swerve. Oh yeah, you know, or I would be Flat Stanley, white cyclist spread across this lane.

And you pass me and match my moves? Touche. Alas, it is not nearly so simple to ride your back bumper. Adieu, my Lex, adieu.

But soft, red light through yonder wind doth brake
There to the east, that cop with radar gun
Arise, my fun, and halt that car buffoon
Who is already sick and pale with grief
Who? Me? What? This lane? To be or not to be.

Eye of newt and toe of frog
Wool of bat and tongue of dog
My bag of tricks, an uncast spell
Tucked away gestures, speak not of hell
Ha! Pulled you over! I needn't cuss
Leave this lane for BIKE AND BUS!

(in childlike sing song voice);
Double double you're in trouble
Take my lane, he burst your bubble
Cop and car sitting just past G

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Never Said It'd Be a Good Song

This is a verse/that tells a tale/of three minus one
We splashed around/while he worked hard/'neath vacation sun.
We worked a bit/and played some more/I drank all day long
Hummed a tune/wrote some words/and out popped this song.

I'd spend my last $12 on Grape Nuts Flakes and beer
Excuse but, I feel the store should be very near
Get your shit and then get out you need to stay here
Charge the card,, made some room-Nut Flakes and BEER!

The pirates come/to Mermaid Rock/each and 'ery morn
They heard a tale/from 16 boats/there might be some porn
I thought I'd spend/half of my day/perched on the lake
I did not know/I'd have to work/as soon as day break

Beneath the house/atop the roof/scrape 'way the stain
While they ran off/and left the isle/to go in a plane
I had heard/but could not find/where they stashed a club
And everywhere/I hung my hat/was bit by a bug

I'd spend my last $12 on Grape Nuts Flakes and beer
Excuse but, I feel the store should be very near
Get your shit and then get out you need to stay here
Shouldn't've had that final bowl of Nut Flakes and BEER

Now how do we/get home from here/do you know the way
Holy shit!/That sure was dumb/we should have him stay.


Wednesday, August 12, 2009

That's Too Much

It's 90 paces ship to dip. I'd put my pace at about two feet. Sure enough, I measured it. 10 paces equals 20 feet. That's two feet per pace.

At a point A paced out to point B I measure 90 paces give or take a pace. That's 90 times 2 carry the zero for 180 feet.

180 feet shore to shore. About 100 feet shore to door. If I were running maybe more. I have a tiny stride. A good deal less if I could ride. I never tried.

I measured my bike wheel. Three full turns for 10 paces. That's one revolution every 6.6666666666667 feet. Or 80 inches. That's me and Parker lying head to head.

If you pedaled a road bike one complete wheel revolution you could run us over. Except you'd finish early since she sleeps ON my head. My head is less than 10 inches.

I'd have to pedal my bicycle 27 revolutions to dip my wheels in the lake. Coast to coast in 60 seconds. RAII? All set. I'm already ready already.

In 14.6666666666666666665 laps I could clock one mile. Back and forth 88410.66666666666665662 times and I could Race Across America. Rather, Race Across Indian Island WILL BE MINE!

The island is 2,160 inches in diameter. Seriously, could someone check the anchor??

15 for 15 for 15. ROCK, paper, scissors, origami RAA RAAAAAH Go.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

Home Swwweeeeeeet Home

This IS Silver Spring.

Saturday, August 1, 2009

Clear Water Revival

Paddle, Paddle, Paddle! Splash, crash, gnash. Paddle, Paddle, piddle, paditty, pfffft. Growl, Grr, whimper, wimp, UNCLE.

Headstrong into the river. Caution to the wind. Like a pit bull gnawing at the vicious, taunting white caps.

White water is no place for the weak. You have to be Strong. You have to be Brave. You have to be CrazY. 1 out of 3 ain't...bad?

Pioneers we were. No fear. Boldly going where even the drunks oared clear. Swiftly downstream. Recklessly chewing through rapid after rapid after rapid. was time to go uP.

Like salmon in heat. A barrel at the edge of Niagara. Brash determination. Overwhelming frustration. Toeing the line of panic.

ARR ARR ARR! Bring it on Baby! The Class .3 Rapids no match for the mettle of our adventurous paddles. The Class .4....ah...maybe a different story.

We suffered our moments of severe doubt. Plans for waterfront relocation ensued. Thoughts of a watery grave materialized. But we got through it. Next time though, I'm bringing the bike. I coulda pedaled through it faster!

Disclosure: Objects in river appear larger than they really were. The facts contained within this post were intentionally presented in a misleading, exaggerated fashion for the sake of entertainment. No boaters were seriously injured throughout the making of this mockumentary.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

A Fan Is A Fan

I went to see about a fan. A motor really. I found a motor and I am not a fan.

HONK! Oh no you didn’t, honk me in a car?!? Big mistake. Big. Huge. I don’t need to go shopping now, but this wasn’t Rodeo Drive, and I am not a Pretty Woman.

Truly, maybe it was a Rodeo driving up my ass. I couldn't quite tell.

I stopped at the marked crosswalk, clearly signed, between the bumps, for a young mother with a stroller. I mean really. Young Mother With Stroller!

Then, I heard the horn, looked up and saw a vehicle lift up my bumper. Not actually, but I bet his paint scared itself onto my bumper.

Did I mention, NOT a pretty woman? I am covered in grease, filth, and sweat. I have spent the last few hours unable to sit up in a 185 degree attic fighting bolts that won’t turn when I want them to and do when I don’t with tools that don’t quite fit in the space I have to work. I am frustrated. Dehydrated. Obsessed. OH Please, fuck with me. Give me a reason to drive slower than I bike, just because I CAN.

I am not a fan of cars. I am not a fan of assholes. I am really not a fan of assholes in cars.

I am a huge fan of attic fans. Attic fans that work. Attic fans that I am the boss of. Uh-huh yeah.

Monday, July 20, 2009

Curiosity Saved Socks

Ah yeah hi, Amazon? About that package you just sent....

My name is Parker, and this is my story.

It got hot. Hotter than it’s been. And I pant, like a dog. I don't like it here anymore.

I’ve been stalking the tree line, ducking bushes, wiggling in ivy. I’m too cute for this shit.

I overheard some bipeds talking and apparently today is National Lollipop day. I have no idea what a lollipop is but they seemed giddy about it.

So there I was stalking the tree line when the most curious biped cruised by, more of a bi- pedaler as the case were. I pounced. MEW MEW. Here, aqui, ici. Take me home please!

I was hungry and she was cute. She stopped, can you believe it. And she said, Come here, so I did. She scooped me up and I purred and purred and it worked!

I didn’t even mind the kitty death grip she put on me when she pulled up her bike and hopped on. She was taking me home. This cutie girl on the bike was taking ME home. Lucky me! I stopped squirming and enjoyed the ride.

Lick lick. Happy Lollipop Day. Sucker!

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

I Am Not My Bicycle

Two things are great for bicycling. Iron and Oxygen. Lack of Iron and you are weak. Lack of Oxygen and you are, well, dead.

Adversely, the contrary is true for the actual bicycle. Oxygen and Iron make RUST. Amber, red, orange, yellow: rust.

Rust is bad. Rust is embarrassing. Rust wins the cement medal. Rust invaded every bitty mm of my bicycle. Nuts, bolts, chain, sprockets, cogs, freakin' frozen derailleur. RUST met-all and held all tight.

I rode my bike in a blizzard. Not your typical snowy white, peaceful snowfall. I'm talking mid-east coast blizzard. You know, the kind we throw white salt on to make up for what Mother Nature is lacking.

Salt in an open wound I say. I committed the most egregious of sins; I must be destroyed. For seven months, that is to say 1,2,3,4,5,6,SEVEN, months passed and not one brush. No water, no rag, no degreaser, no nothing. Just salt on metal, for 200 days.

Roll ahead to Schaeffer. Rust beaten, bike cleaned, cyclist hammering down single track. Until the brakes seemed slightly weaker. The chain a little slack. The longer ahh..ttached?

This is not 'my wheel just doesn't spin'. This is: bike stalls. Pony throws rider. Cyclist sterilized by headset. Wheel rolls backward. Uni- no -Cycle.

I neglected my bicycle. I let her down, and she repaid me, the fool.

Monday, July 13, 2009


3 is half of 8.
The brainiacs will argue without so much as thinking.
The Go Go Google Gadgeteers will surf the solution as 4.
I say it is 3.

You Choose

Studying your telescope,
Squinting through one eye.
Enamored by romantic hope,
I melt into the sky

My diamonds, pillows charm the night,
The moon slips through the haze.
Cirrus, stratus, satellites;
Your Crescent just a phase.

Friday, July 10, 2009

Good For Life

You expect your ob/gyn to have heard it all, seen it all. I mean you never really want someone between your legs exclaiming, "Wow, I've never seen anything like that before!" Well, at least girls don't really so much, boys probably get off on it.

Your first time, like all things sexual in nature, is a little awkward, a little scary, a little uncomfortable. You are young, shy, and not really looking forward to cold metal objects approaching you from that angle.

The day before my first appointment, the man I waited months to see, fell off his horse and destroyed his knee. In his place, sauntered in Cowboy Ben, “Well, howdy little lady” or at least that’s how I remember it. Maybe he wasn’t wearing a cowboy hat and chaps, but there were definitely spurs or stirrups or something. And flannel, I think there was definitely flannel. Panic set in.

But Cowboy Ben was calming and reassuring. It never really made the experience any more enjoyable, but he was nice enough in his pre-historic practice. I could have done without the casual conversation between my legs, however. "Nice weather, eh? So, have you tried the new Cherry Dr Pepper?"

Speaking of Dr Pepper…All was well and good for years and years, until they found IT. “Excuse me, but what exactly is the IT to which you keep referring?” “We’ll let you know if we find IT.” Well, they never told me what IT was, but they found IT at 10, 2, and 4 and I don’t think it was Dr Pepper.

The whole experience felt like an abortion with a wire hanger. I won’t go into specifics, but I vowed never to have sex with a man again. Perhaps that was a little extreme. What I really needed was a second opinion and a new gynecologist.

What I got was a cancer scare and a puppy. “Hi, Honey, I’m sorry you’re not feeling well, and I’m really sorry for my part in it; here’s a big plush puppy.” I get cancer and he gives me a stuffed animal? Really, the cancer would be plenty.

The good news: no cancer. And I love my new gynecologist, even when she asks me awkward questions about my ‘adventurous’ sex life. She’s a hoot. And thanks to her post-historic testing never found IT or anything else for that matter. I'm still not into puppies, jury remains out on boys.