Penn and Tell Her

This had better be good! I have been looking for DC bike polo for about three years now. It's not like it's on the DL or kickin' the Underground. I just firmly believe its coordinates are the Bermuda Triangle.

After about my fourth triangle, I was ready to throw in the sweat soaked towel. It wasn't meant to be. I mean, riding bike is fun, but when you're sweating salt and spitting plastic your patience starts to run thin.

I am on the corner of Lo St. and I don't have a map or an Iphone. Instead, I phone a friend. Hi! I need to find the corner of 6th and Penn, can you help me?

DC EyePhone: It's on the corner of Penn and 6th. You don't know where Pennsylvania is?

Me: No, Penn! 6th and Penn! P.E.N.N.

DC EyePhone: Penn? 6th and Penn? Oh, I see it. What are you doing there? You know that isn't the best part of town...

Really? Thanks Buddy! This Abbott and Costello routine would have been much funnier if I weren't standing on the corner of Michigan and Monroe watching the same drug deal for the fourth time.

I felt a bit like Henry Fonda in On Golden Pond. God. Damn. Blueberries. But at the end of the day, I could finally say I found DC's best kept secret.

Oh Hell

I just spent a ton of money on this piece of furniture. I KNOW! Me? Spend money? It happens.

Well, I moved the room around and now the spacing is off. So in with the new furniture and out with the old. I AM American after all. At least it's not IKEA or I'd have to upgrade next week.

The Internet is bad for me. When I'm ready to spend I get impulsive. And the Internet has EVERYTHING. And when I want it, I want it NOW. And if I can't have it....well, then the impulse passes and I make due.

But I found what I wanted. It wasn't perfect, but I figured what the heck! The end of the world is Saturday. Surely I can get by in the next two days on what I've already got saved. In fact, I charged the darn thing...I'm never gonna have to pay for it! HAaa!!!

Unfortunately when I tried to get the two day express shipping it said it wasn't eligible for it. I was gonna splurge, seeing as how the bill would never come. But now I might not even get my new TV stand in time to try it out. You know, before the world implodes.

Maybe I should go get a new TV too!

You Go Girl

So I'm cruising down 14th in a traffic jam. In the bike lane. A traffic jam in the bike lane. Crazy.

Fixie, CaBi, Fixie, CaBi, me...Crazy.

And I get behind this gal on a CaBi, all decked out for the office. Little skirt blowing in her own breeze, Federal ID badge dangling from her purse.

I'm impressed. She seems right comfortable on that bike. I tried to take her picture but I wasn't nearly as comfortable. She impressed me with her skills. She attempted maneuvers and weaves not covered in Biking 101.

She went through lights and kissed the curbs like a regular bike messenger. On a CaBi, in a skirt. When she went through the first narrow bus passageway, I thought, WOW. I mean I would do that, but not everyone would squeeze through that.

When she approached the next one, I reached for my camera. I couldn't believe she was going for it! Like threading a needle in moving traffic. It was TIGHT. I wasn't going to follow, no way. But there she went carefree cruising down 14th: snug as a bug in a rug.

Metro bus inching along, parked cars bumper to bumper, and Gabby CaBi scaring the advertisement off the bus. Seriously, she had ll that much space between her left handlebar and Doug Hill's face!

BUT WAIT, cars have mirrors! They protrude from the car. It's not often that a pannier will take out a rear view mirror but an occasional bag or elbow might knock boots. But tight squeezes with straight handlebars.....

C R A S H

Gabby CaBi demolished the mirror! She bent it all the way forward to the hood of the car. And stayed on the bike. Bounced into the moving Metro Bus and got a little friendly with the Monday Night Lineup. And stayed on the bike.

She kept right on going. And Stayed. On . The. Bike. Like a pinball off a series of bumpers my girl never lost a stroke. She rode that bike like she had somewhere to go. And away she went...

Hall Me

Well there it was all along in my HALLS bag. The dangers of working in a studio is the phone is always on vibrate, so when you lose it it's lost. Except I guess when it's not.

I'm bothering everyone at work, running up and down the stairs, tearing apart my bag and for WHAT? A phone that's been along for the ride the WHOLE time. Right there in my bag where it belongs.

Be a shame if I get a second interview and no one is there to take the call. That's right, interview. THAT process again.

What's the last book you read, if you could be a superhero..., if you were part of a salad which part would you be? ? ? Whatchoo talkin'bout willis? Salad? Superhero? I'm sorry, I thought this was a JOB interview.

Salad ingredient, really? I mean really! What exactly is the correct answer to that question? Onion? Because its strong and repulsive characteristics stay with you all day. Lettuce? Because it's bland and boring and fills the bowl with a whole lot of nothing. Tomato? Because it's a fruit!

I would refuse to answer that question on the basis of it might incriminate me. That is if Facebook hasn't already. Well anyway if I answer all the questions right tomorrow and they want to call me for a second interview I'm all set now.

My Re-First Schwinn

I still ride my first Schwinn. It's a little bigger than this road demon's. She moved her foot out of the way so I could snap a pic of the my first Schwinn 'etched' on the chain cover.

Someday soon she'll outgrow it and donate it to Bikes for the World. If she takes care of it, like I did mine, it will be a great first bike for someone in Central America.

Or she can let it sit in the rain and rust til it doesn't spin anymore. It's a crime ranking just under painting brick. The brick painters should totally be thrown in prison. Rust Bucket Owners? Yes, prison. Maybe Lorton...hmmm...

So today a woman drags over her bike to donate. She says, you valuate these right? Yes, I can do that. Did you want to donate it? Well, unless you say it's $2,000. I chuckle, I can assure you it is not. She doesn't laugh.

I generously valued it at $50. We might be able to save the frame. And it is an adult bike. She was to say the least INSULTED. And I think, serious about that $2,000. I also didn't laugh. Or budge. Or respond.

But when I struggled with the pedals I considered offering her the wrench. How 'bout this if you can roll the bike I'll give you $20. $20 more if the pedals engage the chain. $20 if you can get the pedals off, here, you can use my wrench. We'll call it an even $100 if you can lower the seat and twist the handlebars. And if you compact your own bicycle I'll pay the $10 dollar shipping fee.

How comes we don't have a tip jar? Lemme guess, you fudge a little on your taxes?

I Solved It!

I solve all kinds of things. That doesn't mean it's feasible, possible, smart, legal, or even safe. But then who'd a thunk you could run a local TV station out of 3 different states, none of which is 500 miles from its ADI?? I'm just saying, hear me out.

What I'm proposing to solve is traffic congestion, speeding, bikes on streets, oh, and the county budget. Is that all? Yes, and it's simple! Do NOTHING.

This photo is a picture of the far right lane of Wisconsin Avenue. It sucks. It's not fit to ride a bike on. And I don't usually. In Maryland I stay off Wisconsin, Connecticut, Georgia, Montrose...there's a long list of them.

So when I hear a complaint from drivers for us bikers to stay off certain roads I get pissed. I go out of my way to avoid them. But then I end up on Sligo Creek, Beach, Jones Mill, Rock Creek...park roads. And they still bitch.

"IS it right for the bicyclists to force sharing a non sharable road when they have a trail right there?" I don't know, IS it right for the drivers, talking on the phone, putting on makeup, speeding, to impatiently try to pass on a two lane road when the beltway is right there??

There are enough roads I can't ride on and plenty more I won't. And I'm still looking for that trail head at the end of my driveway. The one that goes to every point I need...my job, the store, the doctor, a post office, every event I want to go to, every thing I want to see.

But if you stop resurfacing the roads you want me off....I'll stop riding them. Cars will slow down. Ladies will keep the lipstick capped. People may even silence the cell phone use if the road gets bad enough.

Think about it. We won't need pesky speeding cameras. Budgets won't take an even bigger hit after a salty winter. You won't need to move left to pass the VEHICLE up ahead that just happens to be a BIKE.

The solution IS simple. Do NOTHING. Let the roads deteriorate. Save gas. Lower taxes. Buy mountain bikes. Get healthy. Bike THAT, punk!

Next Up: Health Care, the first step already in motion...

Park It!

While I was out dodging danger...

Poor Parker was home S.T.A.R.V.I.N.G. I found her perched above the phone; I think she was dialing Animal Control or the Humane Society or some NPO sympathetic to her pleas.

She had collapsed as she was obviously robbed of vital nutrients...yeah right, who's buying this? She was pacing and pouncing in the window crying and begging as I approached the house.

JDog is convinced she can be trained like a dog. Again, yeah right! Princess P will NOT sit to be rewarded food. The cat that licks her paw and puts it in the center of your plate? Who knocks chips on the floor, steals spinach from the counter, and plays flying squirrel when you open a jar of peanuts?

Oh no she won't sit to be fed. In fact she likes to leap like a frog when you grab the food container. Tonight her landing was olympic disaster. Not at all with the grace of a flexible feline. Unless of course you were going for Diving Horse of Altantic City past?

That's right, Diving Horse. Right smack in the center of her water bowl. SPA-LASH!! Cat-a-pool! Redesignating the water in her bowl to water in her bowl. Great Parker, now where would you like me to put this dry kibble?

If The Bike Fits...

I'm stuck in the position that ate my job. It's true. This week I am scheduled to perform the duties that were created when I was 'no longer needed'.

Just bury me alone in the basement while I babysit the station. It's so easy, a monkey could do it. Monkey: push button.

See Monkey. See Monkey's bike. See Monkey's bike ride by the dungeon. See Monkey go bananas.

HEY! That's my bike! Around and around MC he goes. Who's doing weather, nobody knows. It's just Top, he's allowed. Is it really Bike AT Work day TODAY?

Later I caught the cleaning dude checking it out. He didn't take it for a spin; I'm not sure if he dusted it with Pledge. Slick. Funny, all 3 of us are the same size.

Grab Some Wood There Bub!

Are You There God?

When I was a kid my Mom worked 2nd shift. I didn't see her much. I buried myself in Lite Brite. And at night I would make mommy a picture and leave it on for her to see when she came home.

A few years later she must have been working 3rd. I remember in the summer I wasn't supposed to wake her. So I would stand by her bedside with my face in her face until she woke up. She didn't love it.

Then she was back on 2nd. She missed all my games and I would call and tell her how I did. She had to ask the guys at work what I was talking about when I said things like, "I hit a grand slam!" so she would know whether or not to cheer or console.

I was 12 when I got my period. And I lived with my dad. Me and my dad. There wasn't exactly a supply of feminine products under the sink. Fortunately it was in the winter and it just so happened to snow that day. No school, thank god.

I could stay home with my cramps and a book. Back at school, it was dramatic. It felt like everyone knew. Probably because they did. In gym class we had to announce it during roll call to be excused from group showering. We took co-ed roll call so we did it in 'code'. As if all the boys didn't know what DOT meant. It was quite humiliating.

I'm not sure what this has to do with Lite Brite. But it's a bit like the church sign I look forward to every night. The Lite Brite, not my period. Again, how'd we get on this?

It's me Margaret.

DOG is My Co-pilot

And if God was dyslexic Santa is Satan, which would explain the red suit.