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.

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.

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

CAReFREE

Timbuk2 and Beyond!

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.

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.

Katyak

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.

Mettle

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.”

5 Sets 3 Operators

Even machines will fail.
grrrr

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!

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...

Itsa

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.

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 name...it 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.

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!”

FBF Not ISO SSB

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.

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!)

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
P-A-S-S-I-N-G!!!

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.

(chorus):
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

(chorus):
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.

<

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.

Home Swwweeeeeeet Home

This IS Silver Spring.

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.

UNTIL....it 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.

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.

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!

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 wheel....no 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.

Inkth!

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.