But they are blogged about at NBBB here.
This week: grey, rain, rain, rain, grey. With recently broken bones and my still-smashed right hand, I’m tempted to sound like one of those people who acts like crappy weather was invented just for suffering and just for their suffering at that. It doesn’t feel good.
However, in search of better times and making the best of what’s left of autumn, Mrs. P. and I will venture to our very favorite bookstore and perhaps have dinner somewhere in Charles Village, Hampden or Roland Park. I will have a waterproof messenger bag, so treasures will make it home unscathed. At least it’s going to be in the upper 50s/lower 60s. I hate when it rains just shy of the freezing point. Unless I’m cycling. I do get a kick out of that.
Curiously, Normal’s is on 31st Street, where I blew a spoke last Sunday and had to miss the ride I’d spent so much time helping to plan. Much better tidings today, I think.
My bike is out of commission currently. Yes, breaking a rear spoke on the drive side can make your wheel no longer turn without hitting the frame. No, this does not, as has been suggested, make me a wimp or perfectionist. It’s a matter of my understanding bike wheels, at least a little bit. Plus, there’s the empirical smack-your-ass part where my wheel literally does not turn. The shop will take care of it; it’s under warranty. It’s a good excuse to visit my favorite bike shop.
I need to get some new books and spend quality time with the Mrs. and our little belly/Baby. As if it’s not obvious, I’m growing increasingly less patient with people’s bullshit. A nice walk usually helps a lot.
Barry’s, Dan’s and mine. We were first to the Memorial Ride (read more here.)
Photo Friday: Three.
Got to take a short ride with my two bike pals yesterday. It was hot, and we were on a tight time budget, but it was a blast. We only rode about 12 miles, but it kicked my ass around a little. In my defense, I haven’t been riding regularly for three months. I had just re-spoked Zack’s rear wheel, trued both and patched a tire. Wouldn’t you know that at the end of the ride, when we were standing around talking, the HIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSSSSS of a blown tire interrupted us? We had ice water and enjoyed some AC in my apartment. Then we fixed it up over beers. Had it not blown, I would probably have gone home alone and taken a shower and read for a while. Having some beer and working on bikes was much better. Not a bad way to spend the afternoon!
My new bike has been sitting in my office since Friday, since I was stupid enough to wait too long to order my new helmet. My new tires, rack, fenders, lights, tubes, kickstand and computer are here, too. It smells like rubber when I come in every morning. And it’s so…tempting to just go riding. But, you know, I haven’t had the greatest luck lately. Working on my accessories at lunchtime is fun, but I have a lunch meeting today. Boo.
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?
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.
Things on my face froze this morning on my downhill plunge to Central Baltimore on two wheels. Read more.
I made it to see Obama Saturday. It was amazing.
We bundled up, mounted our bikes and met a co-worker and fellow Nation Service member and walked down. We waited in line for about an hour or an hour and a half and then made it to the metal detectors. Everything went very smoothly, save me having to get wand-ed, even after removing all my metal and AmeriCorps pins. We got some Donna’s hot chocolate and found good spots, maybe a third of the way from the front. Considering that we didn’t get to the event area until nearly noon, I thought that was pretty good. I was mildly afraid that we weren’t going to get in.
At any big public event, a lot of folks are rude and butt in front of one another and hold their cameras up in front of people’s faces, etc. I think this was less widespread that day, or, at least, people weren’t so militant about it. (One note though: owning an SLR does not make you a Photographer and does not mean you can be a jerk. The dudes next to me were screwing over the people behind them during the whole speech holding multiple large cameras over their heads, and all their photos were poorly composed and blurry from what I could see on their LCD. Wankers. All that gear, and you still can’t take good pictures.)
But. Yeah. OBAMA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! There were people there from all over. I was afraid it would be the Roland Park crowd or just students, etc. But no. The mix of people was fantastic and, frankly, unusual for a sometimes-self-segregated Southern city like Baltimore. In itself, it was worth the cold and lack of coffee.
Anything would have been worth standing in a crowd of Baltimoreans and hearing Barack Obama stand up and shout, “Hello, Baltimore!” I get chills and tear-up a little thinking about it. I’m listening to the Inaugural events on NPR right now, and I’m still thinking about seeing Obama in my city this past weekend.
There were a lot of bikes around, but mine was in my office. I wished I’d brought it closer to brag about riding in the cold. But I think anyone who was outside deserved credit and could brag about the chill we all braved Saturday. But it was so worth it, I think it was more about the benefit and less about bravery.
I am wearing a blue and white flannel under a red sweater today. Rode in the snow to get to work. It’s a good day.
Photo Friday: Iconic.
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.
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!
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.
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.
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
Why, in car commercials, are we still supposed to believe that 30 mpg is good mileage? I remember when I was still a car owner (ahem!) and bought a car that was rated at 30 mpg on the highway — a very small car at that. I was disappointed. “What? That’s all? All that technology, and that’s the best they can do?” Of course, gas was like $1.20 then, and eco-consciousness was not as widespread. At least, I was clueless. I thought recycling was enough.
Now, the same auto company still does not have their own hybrid technology, even though I met a guy recently who mistakenly said they did it first. This same car company has a new SUV out this year.
Gee. The auto-industry really seems to have their own self-preservation in mind.
What?
In the morning, I get four miles per bagel and then some on my hybrid [bike]. In the afternoon, not so much, going all up hill. Maybe like four miles on a whole croissant. That’s a steep hill, and I’m my own heavy cargo.
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.
At the risk of sounding like a complete jerk, what’s up with some cyclists around Baltimore who tote around like seven pounds of safety gear but don’t wear helmets? A guy just rode up University Parkway with bright dayglow gloves, jacket, hat and pannier. But no helmet. He had a half-dozen red lights, including one on his hat.
I suppose one could respond that the nature of his gear was to prevent a wreck, not to protect himself. Maybe he likes his bike a lot and does not want a crash. Maybe he likes cars and does not want to mess up people’s cars that might hit him.
Or maybe he thinks that getting hit from behind by a car that does not see him is the only way he’s going to get smashed. Not the Door Prize. Not jerk-ass joggers who avoid empty sidewalks to walk swiftly with jaunty hips in the bike lanes, with traffic, not against it. Not holes in the road or old storm drains with grates that run parallel to the street. Just saying.
I’m genuinely confused — not trying to start a helmet vs. no-helmet fight. I’ll cop to riding sans helmet during the two months in 2005 between when I bought my bike and when we sold our car. I’m confused most by folks who clearly have safety in mind but still don’t wear helmets.
Fatherhood
