My new bike is in.

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But I don’t have a photo yet.  This photo is of a pipe-cleaner bike I made at my VISTA training in August.  It stands on the jacket dealy from a cup of  coffee I was drinking at the time.  It resides in my office.

I picked the Novara Buzz V for a number of reasons.  It’s simple and practical.  I like the low-fi looks and anti-theft aspects like locking skewers and no quick-release anything.  It has custom fenders.  It’s STEEL.  It was in the price range of the insurance money I got for the wrecked bike.  I really, therefore, paid for it in September 2005 when I bought my first bike, which was replaced with insurance money when it got stolen in fall 2006.  The insurance folks paid for the lights, fenders, rack, computer, etc.  Everything that got destroyed  but my helmet.  I was buying a new helmet anyway, so I didn’t want to go after them for that.

The biggest “fault” I’ve noticed so far is that the paint is junk.  It’s matte and flakes off.  Mine has several chips already from the trip from the factory to REI, and the one locked near the train station looks like it’s been through a wood chipper.  I suppose this is to make it less steal-able?  Or just a consequence of the matte finish?  I feel like I should be annoyed that my shiny new bike is not perfect (or shiny).  But you can’t get a perfect bike.  I know that for sure now.  And bikes get scratched up when you ride them.  Even if you got a perfect bike, it would eventually get dinged up if you rode it.  I was being stupid, yes.  Thing is, you don’t care when you’re riding regularly.  I’m not.

But screw it.  I refuse to be a prisoner of my own neurotic and compulsive tendencies.  I always need all my shit to be perfect.  Forever.  Like you can buy perfectly-crafted goods.  And like you can use them without wear and tear.  Nah, if I resist the urge to be a stupid jackass, I feel particularly…invited to put some stickers on now.  I still have some that my cycling pal sent me in 2005 when I first got into cycling.  It’s all good.  In a few weeks, I’ll be riding my bike and laughing at the witty stickers on it.

We did have a bit of an adventure to get it, though.

Tuesday, I had an early appointment with my hand doctor and a big meeting all afternoon.  It was already a weird day.  I wanted REI to leave my bike in the box so that I would not be tempted to ride before I’m physically ready and get hurt again.  But they couldn’t, and it came in Tuesday, rather than Friday.  Our glasses were also ready early.  So I walked from near Penn Station to Charles Village after work, met the Mrs., walked to the Rotunda, got our glasses and walked to the light rail.  Took it out to Timonium, walked to Baja Fresh and ate amidst sad yuppies.  Walked to REI.  Picked up my bike, some spare inner tubes and an under-the-seat bag.  Walked to the light rail and took my bike on it.  Walked about a mile home.  So my bike’s first trip was on a train and being walked.  Not as cool as being ridden, but much cooler than coming home in a car or truck.

Memorable night, though.  And I would be a douchebag to let such a fun-ly-gotten bike be less awesome because it wasn’t perfect when perfection wasn’t even possible.

Perhaps by airing these stupid mind-fucks I play on myself, I can kick them?

In other news, after we got home, we went shopping for prenatal vitamins for Mrs. P.  (More on that later, of course).

“That’s why I don’t ride a bike.”

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I can’t tell all of the ignorant things some people have said to me since the bike accident, to complement all the very nice and very sweet words and well-wishes and gifts of candy and company from very good people I am lucky enough to know. In addition to people who have been very very nice to me, there is a whole platoon of people have taken it upon themselves to help me reform and understand my face-plant better with completely unsolicited advice. Indeed, even in defeat, there are insistent cycling-nay-sayers. A few:

1) One person, when my face was still leaking liquids and looked twice as nasty as this picture, said, “You gotta be careful out dere on dem bikes.”
No shit? Wow. Guess when I heal, I’ll have to stop riding stoned and with my eyes closed. I mean, seriously, nice way to fucking blame me for what happened without having ever seen me ride or even know what the hell caused the crash. And P.S. — “you” don’t ride anyway, so what do you know?

2) “I worry about you on that bike.”
Thanks, but, looking at the statistics and remembering driving a car, I worry about you in your car. (I don’t actually mind that one so much.)

3) The one I’ve heard the most and the one that makes me maddest: “That’s why I don’t ride a bike.”
Oh. Now. Where to begin?
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What do you mean by “that“? Do you mean my injured limbs? The cuts I had? Not being able to ride for weeks and missing some awesome bike-related events? Or do you mean my wrecked bike by “that”? Maybe “that” means what it feels like when what stops your body from a speed of 25-27 miles per hour is the friction of your body hitting the ground and skidding to a halt, leaving half on your lip and pieces of your face on the cement? Do you mean that? Or maybe the sound it makes, i.e., a helmet hitting and scraping the visor off and grating metal?

Nah. I know you, and I know what “that” means when you say to me, “That’s why I don’t ride a bike.”

It could mean your own fear of riding in traffic. Well, guess what? I was not hit by a car. To my knowledge, there were no moving cars around me. Nor was I riding in the street. I was on the bike trail, and I hit an unmarked pipe, just small enough to not see in time big but enough for a poopy crash. In Baltimore, no one could get away with having that shit out in the street at 8:30 in a Wednesday morning. Certainly, getting hit by a car is a risk we all take. But in this case, when you look at me and say, “That’s why I don’t ride a bike,” that is irrelevant.

It could your own being in bad shape. But if you know me, you know I’m not exactly in shape, and I have a big ass to prove it — not to mention the belly I carry for someone my age. Being in less than great shape is a strange reason not to cycle.  I am in terrible shape and look like, even in (HA!) peak riding condition.

It might mean your lack of interest. That’s cool. You don’t have to be into cycling. I’m not into driving my ass around in a car. But do you need to state your interests when I wreck? I mean, I never told someone hurt in a car accident, “Damn, that’s why I don’t have a car. Those fuckin things are deadly.”

I don’t know why I’m so pissed off at this phrase being repeated to me. It feels like a judgment on one hand – like that I’m engaging in what amounts to dangerous behavior just by riding my bike for transportation. That’s annoying enough. But it also feels like people are working out or venting some of their own issues on me (paranoia, bad fitness habits, being left out of the cycling craze, etc.). These people are making my own traumatic experience (not to throw that term around) about them.

For the record, no one I know who has gotten on a bike to go somewhere in the last few years has said anything like that. Instead, there are well-wishes — like from my nicest non-cycling friends. I am lucky to have nice people all around me. To be sure, it’s not a matter of cycling or not cycling. It’s something else.  And I know it’s not me.

OMG, mega cold commute.

The windchill was -2 this morning when I left.  Not counting the chill of riding downhill four miles to work.  Not as cold as some parts of the country.  But very very very cold for Maryland, where our summers are beastly.  It was awesome.  Read more.

Obama in Baltimore, Saturday!

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I am pissing myself with excitement over Obama stopping in Baltimore Saturday.  Transportation and anxiety are keeping me from the Inauguration, even though I wanted to cycle down  there badly.  I was beginning to feel badly about missing out.

But in Baltimore City?  I would not be able to live with myself if I missed it, pending a real and serious and dire emergency.  I am willing to walk if I have to.  I’ve walked downtown from North Baltimore before.  It’s a fun walk.  But I’ll likely ride my bike with Mrs. P to UB where my office is and leave my bike there and walk the rest of the way.  (I imagine bikes locked near the event or the train station will be frowned upon.)  But if UB is locked up because of its proximity to Penn Station, well, like I said.  I’ll walk.

I’m going to weep like a pinched baby Saturday, too.  I can’t help it.

My brother and a friend of mine are going nuts because they work in transportation and supply for the National Guard, who are all on call already this weekend for the Inauguration and then Saturday on top of it.  I don’t envy their stress, but I’m glad that very competent people are working to protect Obama and to protect all of us.  Okay, fear mongering over.

I’m not scared; I’m excited.

Thanking the Hanes gods for longjohns.

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I got drenched earlier this week riding my bike to work in all that rain. I mean like hanging my clothes to dry drenched. It was awesome.  My new fenders kept most of the slosh and slush and sludge off of me and off of my drivetrain.

But I was still looking forward to the sunny, clear and cold weather of yesterday and today. I had on very warm winter cycling gloves, a puffy vest, scarf, flannel or sweater and LONGJOHNS. Yes, longjohns. Rather than getting home with pink and chapped and stingy legs, I get home toasty and warm and happy and full of fuzzies because they are new.  And my hips smell like ink from the dye.

Of course I also sit in my office with very warm legs, which is very strange.  Especially if you’re a hairy man like me.  And you know you’re not supposed to wear anything under longjohns, right?  When your underwear touches your socks, it feels like you’re (to quote Ned Flanders) “wearin nothin at all!”  I’m not exactly into that, uh, ahem, lack of support.  It’s very odd.

Totally worth it to be able to cycle through a winter which is certainly colder than some places, but not quite New England or Upper Midwest either.

Rider status indicates that there are still in fact some cyclists in Baltimore who are, uh, brave/crazy enough to ride through the winter.  I’m not alone, and I don’t want to be.  Even when it’s raining and 35 degrees, there were folks out.

Possible fun joint ride Sunday.  If you’re in Baltimore, comment here and come!

Where is my Christmas spirit?


I think I’ve been not much in the holiday spirit because I haven’t been shopping much at all.  And also work business.  But I think it’s largely a lack of shopping.  What?

Christmas came early for my bike though.  The seatpost clamp that is not QR doesn’t fit, but that’s Okay.  The seatpost does, and the saddle’s on, too.  The stitching is wacky on my seat.  But.  Whatever.  At least I can ride it today.  While staring at my maimed bike all last week across my desk made me ache to defy death in traffic, The Duke sitting here while I work has made me excited today for the chance to ride home.  For all it’s annoying quirks and imperfections, I do love my bike.

I think that my old (stolen) bike got me out of my car and into the fun world of getting around without four wheels.  This bike was under my butt when I really got into cycling in traffic and to get places that people look at me funny for riding to, like weddings, job interviews and community meetings in questionable neighborhoods.

There have been times I’ve badmouthed it myself, for all its hyrbid dorkiness, but I’d be beside myself if someone stole this one.

So he’s coming to the office with me until my workplace threatens me.  And I’m prepared to fight them, given what little anyone does to prevent bike theft these days.  (Though a UB detective tells me that they are getting siren locks to lend folks….)

Sumbitch stole my bike seat.

And seat post!  There I was last night at around 5:30, heading to a community meeting in Barclay.  I went to get my bike outside UB, and the seatpost and seat were gone!  I thought I must have forgotten to lock it, but the tiny little cable was cut. I use a U-lock, with a thick cable on my front wheel and a tiny cable they make for seats and other small stuff to lock my seat, since both are quick-release.  I never thought anyone would steal it.  Nor that the wanker would leave the light and computer on the handlebars which were worth far more money.  Stupid crackhead.

So I spent my evening fetching the vintage monster I sorta found and couldn’t find the owner for, discovering how much work getting it ridable will entail and ordering a new seat/post and a clamp that bolts closed(!).  It wasn’t that expensive, and I’ve been meaning to get rid of my heavy suspension seatpost and overly-cushy seat for a while.  But, you know, I wanted to still be riding until my replacements were in.  Now my poor bike is in my office, seatless and sad.

And I’m taking the bus this week.

Three years carfree.


There I was this morning, meandering through wooded streets on my way to work in Central Baltimore.  The ground was wet and more filled with gravel than I thought it would be, so I was taking it slowly to avoid having to clean myself and my drivetrain later.  (My current fenders suck hard.)  My fingers were warmer than they should have been, and I was trying to remember why yesterday felt like an important date.

Yesterday was three years since we actually sold the car and took up legs and transit and trains to get where we need to go.  I’m probably not much thinner and don’t really have a ton of money saved (I made more money as a grad student than I do as a VISTA), but I’m much happier.

I feel like I should have some reflections on being carfree, but I’m too tired to think of much.  Like how you avoid the guilt that one of my neighbors told me about this morning, of driving everyday alone.  Or how you really do see more of your city and meet more people and stay in at least slightly better physical shape.  Or how you should try it.

But it’s hard to really try being carfree.  We decided to sell our car a few weeks before we actually handed over the keys and $6,600 to a Saturn dealer — because Thanksgiving was coming, and we were on the way to Baltimore, and we couldn’t meet with the car guy to sell it until we got back.  So we had time to get used to the idea.  How will I get here?  Should I stock up on stuff because I don’t get there as often?  If I still owned a car, I don’t think I’d be able to think very creatively about transportation and fun because the four wheels would always be there to make that commute quicker or that trip a little more comfortable.  That could certainly be my own weakness speaking, but it’s like imagining what it’s like to be a vegetarian.  Until you’re faced with what to eat at a steakhouse you go to with a family member (and when, like the car  in the garage, you could just eat the meat), there are alternatives that are fun and alternatives which are just unpleasant that are hard to imagine unless you have to.  It’s not a matter of weakness or strength or ethics.  It’s hard to imagine the tight spot that vegetarianism and being carfree can each be unless you’re in it.

I’m certainly not trying to get preachy or anything.  Even with the rise of cycling as transportation, I don’t actually know anyone in my family or circle of friends who is intentionally carfree.  I do know some car-light folks who cycle as much as possible, and that’s more awesome than I can say.  But there’s still the car when you “need” it and the difficulty in imagining being very carfree.  I know people without a car because of money or a lack of license.  But swearing off the auto is hard business. I think I’m stubborn enough to be able to stick with it, that stubbornness being a weakness dressed up like a strength in this instance.  But there are definitely times when a car would make some things easier.  With the way things are laid out and constructed around cars in the US, this is bound to be true.  I’m not saying that we don’t live in a great country; nor am I judging it.  But the US is arranged around cars for the most part, and that’s not just my opinion.  Look around, or read up on what smarter folks have written about it.

In the end, though, cycling, walking and transit make a boring trip a mega-fun adventure.  Going to The Charles to see a movie is a pain in the ass if you drive.  If you cycle from North Baltimore, it’s a fun ride, and the theater is warm and inviting.  Imagine grocery shopping without ever having to look for or fight for a parking place.  Being able to lock your bike right by the door at work.  The cool looks you get when you go to a dinner party or a wedding and tell people you rode there on a bike or walked.

All possible without a car.

[More BIKE LIFE photos.]

[If you think cars are the best thing ever and want everyone to have one, you should direct your energies toward a blog on that topic (I'll read it), rather than wasting it on trolling comments that won't get published.  Just sayin.]

Photo Friday: White.

New shoes, strange knee.

Monday, I was at work between my normal workday and a community meeting I had to go to at night.  My knee was bothering me again, so I read up on what a trainer in college told me I had.  She was crazy, but I think she was right.  Except about the part about surgery.  Turns out it’s almost always exercise/PT, often involving cycling.  The inflamation is worse when sitting.  Yes.  So I took the long way to the meeting, and my knee felt a good bit better.  Yesterday also.  But I thought I’d rest it today and took the bus, which I’ll do for the rest of the week.  Okay, maybe it’s a wuss move, but at least I’m not driving, right?  The bus is its own kind of fun, actually.

And I met another cyclist in the church basement at the community meeting Monday who wears the reflective ankle straps I wear to keep my pants out of my chainrings.  I told him I was glad to not be the only one to have them, and we talked about favorite jeans ruined by chainrings and chains.  I also became less anal about wear-and-tear on my bike yesterday, through realizing that getting upset about a new scratch on my fork blade, when there are dozens all over my bike and that it had some from the shop anyway, is just stupid.

Either deal with it, or hate my bike and never ride.  Never ride?  F@#$ that.

And I finally have shoes on!  I realize there are people at work who have never ever seen me in shoes.  This is funny.  The purchase process was almost too good to be true, for someone who doesn’t wear leather but doesn’t want to drop $150 on shoes either.  First place I looked, got em.  Very nice price, too, with free shipping to boot.  Picked up my package at someone else’s house, strapped a large box to my bike (bought two sizes to try) and rode home in rush hour.  It was awesome.

But I don’t want to portray myself as a constant consumer, at least not of anything but notebooks, coffee/tea and bike innertubes.

Beat-up green Malibu.

Dear Lady in the Beat-Up Green Malibu:

It was pretty funny yesterday afternoon, how you blew your horn at me on my bike for a full second, as we approached 25th Street.  It was a good joke when I was in the straight lane so as not to block folks making this legal right on red and  how we weren’t even stopped yet.  I’m so polite that I’m a joker.  It was all very funny.  How you couldn’t even make your turn after you scared the shit out of me because of the traffic.  How we were uncomfortably face-to-face when my heart was racing and your window was open.  I felt like I should say “Hello” or something.  Oh, but I was laughing too hard inside!

Oh, and you were on your phone.

That’s why you were a bitch?  Yeah.  If I were a braver man, I’d have reached into your car and taken that phone.  I wouldn’t have touched you.  Don’t worry.  But you’d never see that phone again.  Part of me hopes that you got two flat tires or rear-ended a parked car and didn’t hurt anyone but instead caused yourself a lot of trouble.  But that’s not the funny part of me.

Here’s to hoping that you dropped your phone later and that it was run over by the fattest cyclist in Baltimore.

Go to hell,

This Dude

Crate and deck treats.


A few weeks ago, my friend and I embarked on a milkcrate installation and tire/tube replacement on a quiet Saturday afternoon. It was very spur-of-the-moment and got more so with the addition of snacks and beer. I got some photos of Mr. D doing funny things with his knee brace, but I’ll keep those to myself.

This probably makes it look like we’re whinos. But this was definitely a treat for both of us.

Photo Friday: Spontaneous.

Two flat tires yesterday on my way home.


(I know; we have a bike blog. But I’ve been dominating the posting lately and have been neglecting this blog, so here you go.)

It’s a bee-otch. I have been having a lot of tire trouble lately. Or, maybe, I’m just riding more and getting more flats. I officially blame the Jones Falls Trail, particularly the part under the Howard Street bridge. Of my recent flats, three were caused by glass from right there. And after my recent adventures, I’m rocking Kevlar-belted tires. That didn’t help yesterday when three huge slivers of glass that looked like quartz stems stabbed my tire. I came out from work and suspected someone was messing with my lock and noticed my rear flat. I didn’t feel like patching, so I put my spare tube on. Those tires are pain to get back on, so it took a bit for me to figure out the trick. I was running low on air, so I stopped to put some air in when I got to the trail and realized why: busted valve stem. While I was examining this, some dickhead wizzed by me on his bike without a word, bell, etc. (I hope your trunk bag fell in some mud, wanker.)

What’s up with the rude cyclists lately? Are they pissed that they have to ride because of gas prices or something? I mean, I love the greater number of cyclists. But there was a time when most of the people I passed greeted me back or even first. You know: last year!

Anyway, I went to some shade to patch my tube after taking off this new and busted tube. Some old guy came over and silently watched my work. Told me I have a nice bike. That I should get some tire strips and that I would have payed less for my bike at the bike shop he likes. I didn’t feel like getting into how tire strips rub and then cause flats, how the price of my bike did not differ (in fact) from the different Giant dealers in the Baltimore area in October 2006. I just finished, thanked him for his company with a handshake and went on my way.

I was stupid enough to try to plug the hole in my tire tread with rubber cement. Did a number on the rest of the rubber. I think it’s Okay for a while. But I patched the inside of the tire, ordered two spare tires and some more spare tubes — just in case. Overhauled my brakes last night, too. Replaced my front pads, which were doing a number to my rims. Poor things.

I rode a different way to work this morning, avoiding my usually sylvan ride in favor of riding through traffic the whole way. In some respects, I like it better. Though I’m probably upping my chances of getting hit. When I was on the Maryland Avenue bride this morning, I turned around and saw four other cyclists riding to work and school. Five bikes on that little bridge at once!

Biking in Baltimore is coming around.

A reading-kind-of-day.


I wish I could sit home with a good book on a day like today. I like my job. Here I am, hyped up on coffee and with a few minutes to spare. And I’m blogging on company time, on a computer that is supposed to be “monitored.” But, like I said, I like my job. A lot. Being a VISTA is great, and I have a nice little office with nice people in nice little offices up here on the top floor.  I have a lot of lunch meetings, but not today.  Today, I get to do my favorite thing aside from biking up to Charles Village to meet Mrs. P.: get a coffee/snack and hole up in my office for an hour reading a good book.  It’s a good way to spend lunchtime.

I wussed out and took the bus to work today. I rode the bus three days last week, but that’s because The Duke was tire-less. I’ll ride my bike in the rain, and I have. But “severe storms” — no. Not if I don’t have to. Not today. The bus picks me up outside my apartment building and drops me at Penn Station, across Charles Street from my office. It’s a good deal. I am soaked now from a coffee run with a co-worker. My sandals are on the AC vent drying. My bike is at home with new rim tape, new tubes and new tires with frikkin Kevlar in them. I feel like I’m cheating or being disloyal.

I am tired. I went to see Candlebox with my brother Sunday night, tickets to which show (along with a Tshirt) were my birthday gift. It was a hell of a lot of fun, but I was beat yesterday. Yesterday, I worked from 9am – 8pm and ate pasta and green beans when I got home and watched TV and went to bed. I’m still tired, but that could be the weather now that I think of it.

This blog got all “this happened, and I did this, etc.” all the sudden.

Damaged rim.


[Larger.]
Not my bike.  (My rims are black.)  This is what happens when you don’t notice there’s no air in your tire and then try to ride off.  Busted valve stem; Slime didn’t help.  I sanded this rim for this person.  Because I like playing with sandpaper.  And because I like this person.  A lot.

Photo Friday: Awful.

Staying home or running around?


This is a neat article on the environmental benefits of being lazy. Funny, I didn’t know that I have been saving the planet my whole life!

Yeah, but, uh, just so you know, person in article: not buying stuff does not make you a “transcendentalist.”

From the same source, a piece on kids never going outside. This is strange to me. When I was a kid, not going outside to play was a punishment or my parents being strict because of rain. We rode bikes, created our own baseball league with stats kept in copybooks, played guns, got into minor trouble, socialized sans playdates, etc. But the kids I work with on cycling, most of them, don’t do anything like that. If they go over one another’s houses, its by car and their parents’ permission. Two made it to thirteen without learning to ride a bike at all. But with cycling, you have to go out, learn, risk, engage. It’s very different from the online video games these kids use as social interaction.

I think that’s why they’re taking to cycling like they are. One young man has taken his bike as transportation a few times that I know of, trips of a few miles for which his parents would usually drive him. I think that’s awesome. A few of them seem to enjoy learning how their bikes work, and most of them are amazed when I tell them something like, “That wasn’t hard, was it? We just rode thirteen miles.”

There’s hope! And, ahem, it seems like bikes certainly help.

Bike Pageant.


Next month, Waverly Main Street and Greater Homewood Community Corporation are hosting the National Night Out Kick-Off parade, which includes a Bike Pageant.

Download the flier here, which I host with permission from GHCC’s PR person.

People can ride in the parade by signing up.  I might do it in a dress or some other feat of daring.  Daring because I don’t have a step-through frame, not because wearing a dress is necessarily brave.  I played a little gig in a nightgown once, in college.

Even more info can be found at Waverly Mainstreet’s blog.