“Your [sic] packed in like rats in Baltimore.”

[I'm aware of the mis-spelling of "your're."  I'm quoting someone.]

Said one exile from Charm City (er, The County) to me four years ago.  She went on to talk about how “green” the shithole she’s from is.  How awesome. Made me want to puke.  Hate Baltimore all you want, but don’t make shit up (not that you have to sometimes).  Population density is often a good thing.  Not often, but what’s always good, besides coffee and a quality notebook?

To her, however, I say FU–, uh, EAT your heart out.Cities are on the rise, and I’m happy about it.

Green spaces are fun?  Of course they are.  If we keep spreading out as the population of our small planet grows, we’re not going to still have it if we keep getting our two-acre plots with houses that exist merely “to keep the TV dry.”  One gets tired of people who have to drive 30 miles from their house to even get groceries in a car that boasts environmental stickers.  Such people undo everything they might do every time they go buy organic carrots at the Wholefoods that’s a half hour away (each way!).  But I’m not the only one to point this out; I can’t be.

There are no green cars.  Not really.  Don’t kid yourself.

But I digress. I’m talking about cities.  And how awesome they are.

And I forgot what else.

Only in Baltimore.

Only in Baltimore would someone bum “bus fair” off of you while you’re on your cell phone, standing around a few other people who are not on phones and who do not get asked for change.  Only in Baltimore, also, would you oblige with a smile.

I love this city.

Been walking so much the bus looks fast to me.

I’ve blogged a lot about walking.  I know.  It’s something that I don’t do enough (because I am lazy and impatient) but something I enjoy endlessly.

Wednesday, I was at a community meeting at St. Paul Street and North Avenue in Central Baltimore.  It was supposed to last until 7:30 or 8:00, but it was over at 7:04 for pizza and chatting.  I’d already done my “networking” before the meeting started, so I bolted to catch my 7:53 bus at the train station.  On my way from my chair to the door, I thought, “Why should I bullshit in my office until my bus?  I can just walk!”  So when I left the building, I made a left and headed for home.

Sure, folks will chide you for walking through “that area” at “that time of night.”  Dude, 7:00pm dark is not the same as 2:00am dark — and I don’t walk around anywhere at that time (except once in Carbondale when we walked from the train station to home in the dead middle of the night after a trip to Memphis, with a tiny flashlight –  but that’s another story).  I didn’t see anyone sketchy and in fact was the sketchy person to lady who halted her exit from her car until after I passed her around 24th Street.  And for two young ladies carrying their groceries home above 25th Street.

Instead of driving or sitting on an empty bus or pedaling uphill, I got to peak into the big, old, stately houses on St. Paul Street (think 3-story rowhomes with big basements), at folks’ bookshelves and holiday decorations.  I greeted a dozen dog-walkers.  I caught the exam-time buzz as I cut through JHU to University Parkway.  I scared a guy on the section of University Parkway there the streetlights are out and where it is completely pitch black.  And, at the top of the hill, I saw the warm glow of the LED star lights in our windows, on the corner of the building, where warmth, my wife and a pasta dinner awaited.  In all, I walked 3 miles in 45 minutes.  Not that far, but fast, and I was tired.  That distance is small for a hike, but pretty long in a smallish city like Baltimore.

It was an exceptional night.  I read before bed and slept like a baby.

We planned some similar fun walking for Saturday, which is itself worthy of a post.

Walking tours out the wahzoo.

My  VISTA position largely involves Central Baltimore and hooking up higher ed folks with the area, to be better neighbors and to help one and all, etc.  The problem is, no one knows what the hell Central Baltimore is, and even more people are plain afraid of it.  When I mentioned that we’re ending tomorrow’s walking tour at the delicious Station North Arts Cafe’, someone told me, “[pause].  That’s not a real good neighborhood.”  Indeed, I wouldn’t walk around there at two in the morning, but I wouldn’t walk around anywhere in Baltimore or any city at two in the morning.  You really can’t blame someone who being like, “What’s Central Baltimore?” when they don’t know about the area.  No one’s a jerk for not knowing something.  But when people who don’t know anything start passing off judgments like they were just there last night, well, that’s a problem.

My co-worker and I led a walking tour in December and will lead another tomorrow and another Sunday in Central Baltimore.  If you see a dude with a megaphone (I shit you not), that’s me.

This week has been very insane, and both blogs suffer.  Apologies.  Next week will be much more sane and will allow for more posting.

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.