Cycle Commuter - Adventures in Bicycle Commuting

• Miles ridden: ~100
• Miles driven: 424 (134,965)

Today, July 1, marks the precise half-way point of the year… I’ve been lucky enough to ride about 176 of the 183 days of this year thus far. I stopped recording my miles when it became apparent that I shouldn’t be riding until I could get things looked at. I now have to wait for a PT appointment.

Summer has arrived, and rather abruptly at that. The past month, I’ve been watching my conditioning slowly deteriorate. In a way, it’s heartbreaking… but in another, it’s oddly inspiring. I’ve been here before. I’ve started from scratch before, and I’ll be doing it again. True, it’s quite frustrating to see so many friends and strangers out riding in this glorious weather… especially when they ask why I’m not riding. The reality of using my car a lot more is also frustrating… but it is what it is. I won’t heal if I ride, it’s as simple as that. Besides, there are many more things that I could be dealing with that’d be a whole hell of a lot worse.

So, once I am healed, I’ll be starting from scratch. What was once easy will be difficult, and I’ll have to work my way back into condition one step at a time. In the meantime, I’m idly fiddling with my bikes and doing those things I’ve wanted to do… like tweaking a brake pad or overhauling a bb.

On a different note, I’m very pleased that Spain won the Euro. Watching the game made me want to get out on the pitch and knock the ball around again. I’m sure watching the Tour will offer the same result. To be honest, I don’t care who’s the favorite or about all the drama between the teams/riders… my attention is solely on Garmin-Chipotle. In a way, it’s more fun to watch the sport when you’re not constrained by the hopes that your team/athlete goes big. Of course I want them to do well, but like their modest goal of the TTT at the Giro, I’m only hoping that they ride their own rides and have a great time.

The funny thing is, the tape was looking pretty good for 10 months of use… until last month, which even then wasn’t that bad until the third week. Turns out that three flats on the road in rainy conditions doesn’t bode well for white tape. Who’d have thunk? So, black tape for the Double Cross now.

Plans for the next bike got rolling yesterday with the arrival of a bitchin’ new set of fenders. Of course, the plans for this bike have been brewing for a while… the fenders are just the beginning of what’s to come. It makes perfect sense that one would build a bike when they’re unable to ride, right?

Went for a walk this morning and pondered the walkability of my neighborhood. Farmer’s market, two grocery stores, a couple coffee shops, two schoools, library, post office, a plant nursery, couple banks, video store, lots of little independent shops and about eight restaurants. There’s a bike shop, too, but it’s (tragically) under questionable management. All that within roughly a half-mile radius of the central intersection, though the majority is within two blocks of it. Not bad.

I ride to the store. I ride to smile. I ride for fitness. I ride to work. I ride so my kids can feel the wind in their faces. I ride to save money. I ride in plain shoes and clothes. I ride because of curiosity. I ride to feel symbiotic harmony of body and machine. I ride to check out the neighborhood. I ride to save the planet, one revolution at a time. I ride for poetry. I ride to loosen up and not take things so seriously. I ride to keep a competitive edge. I ride to show others that they too can ride. I ride the same roads. I ride because I respect that guy that caught me, uphill, on his single-speed cross bike. I ride because the weather can, and will, get shittier. I ride for a different perspective. I ride for the elegance. I ride because I’m stubborn. I ride to smile at those little unexpected moments. I ride to catch that wheel ahead of me. I ride for that moment, beyond The Wall, where it all disappears. I ride because of great conversations. I ride clean. I ride for community. I ride to see the dawn spread and dusk fall. I ride to fly through one green light after another on a road oddly devoid of traffic. I ride because I asked myself if I could ride there instead of driving. I ride because of a goal. I ride for love. I ride because it scares me. I ride for stories. I ride to understand it. I ride for fluidity. I ride because I won’t ever be the fastest. I ride for utilitarian, multi-modal existence. I ride because this could be anywhere. I ride because of muscle memory. I ride for pain. I ride for little moments of glory known only to me.

I ride to ride.

It’s about baby steps. It’s about starting small. It’s about doing what’s significant to you, even if it’s riding around the block only once a week. I have to keep telling myself that as I’m attempting to let my leg heal.

Thursday and Friday I commuted by bike to the train. My Achilles immediately flared up Thursday morning, but that feeling of being in the saddle again overcame any aches or fears. I needed to ride. Friday afternoon, I headed straight for the pub to watch the replay of the Netherlands v. France Euro game. Those boys are playing some phenomenal footie. On the way home, I passed a couple who were out on a pair of awesome cruisers and decided to wait for them at the next light. We ended up having an awesome conversation on the side of the road. Not unlike seeing someone in Spain wearing a hat from your hometown college, there’s an inherent curiousity when running into other people on bikes in your neighborhood. I hope to ride with them again sometime.

Other bits of randomness… Allergies suck. The sun (finally) came out for more than a few odd hours. Inspired people are awesome.

I’ve been all about the low mileage since Friday; my Achilles has been getting better, thankfully. This shift to low mileage has allowed me the opportunity to rock the One Way around the neighborhood. I honestly do love riding just to check out all the places in the area. There really are some beautiful little homes around here… and each time I go out, I find a new place that makes me think “Hey, that’s not a bad little place. I like what they’ve done with _______.”

So that’s that. Another month gone by. All in all, not a bad one.

While the last week definitely dragged a little, yesterday felt like a perfect conclusion to the whole affair. Great weather, great people and a few good laughs. In the morning, G and I linked up and had a great conversation about nothing in particular. At the checkpoint, four more joined us and the good times continued. J even came out, though after a mile or so he sprinted off the front, apparently expecting G or I to go after him… we didn’t see him again until the locker room, where he was informed that a sample would be needed for a doping test.

Just as I was settling into my cube, G came over and asked if I had the Giro feed up. I didn’t. He looked at me, “Dude, pull it up. Di Luca and Ricco attacked and are way out with 5k to go.” We had chatted a little about the day’s stage while riding in, figuring that it and today’s would be where the shit went down. G and I were glued to the choppy video feed from cyclingfans, switching over to the live cyclingnews text updates periodically. I can only imagine that our coworkers were rolling their eyes at our excitement and potential slacking, but those minutes might well’ve been the highlight of the day…

But the highlight came with the afternoon rollout. The locker room was packed. Outside, bikes lined the wall while others stood with theirs, bantering with friends. Riders of all types—hardcore roadies, newbie commuters, battle-tested MTBers… all in one spot, sharing the same excitement for a sunny ride home. That we were all out there and all smiles, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride for what we were doing… however varied our reasons, however big or small our impact may have been, we were commuting by bike and we were doing it together.

G and I split off from the group at the checkpoint. At the foot of Little Euro, I looked at him and told him that there wouldn’t be any games, I had nothing left. My body was getting louder in its protests, especially my lower back and Achilles. Overuse and poor management (aka not enough stretching) resulted in tendinosis, and I was especially feeling it as we started up the hill. Dropping into the next valley and heading out across the flats, I felt it more with each pedal stroke. Fortunately, we made it into town without issue. As we were nearing the bridge, we passed a gal on a beautiful old Peugeot bike. I thought about telling her that she had a nice bike, but she had earphones in. G and I split up and I went to the pub to celebrate the completion of a goal with a shot of Jameson and a pint while reading the paper.

Nothing out of the ordinary happened during this morning’s commute, though I did see bus #38 run a red light after it’d hauled ass past me.

The ride home was equally uneventful. There was a bit of a headwind, which was a slight bummer. M caught me on the flats near town and sat on my wheel for a bit. When he popped around he was quite chatty… “Hey man, when you hitting a thousand?!?” Today, I replied. “Wow, man, that’s great… it’s a great feeling, huh? A huge milestone. I hit it a couple days ago. Incredible, huh?” I can’t say that I shared his enthusiasm at the time, but it did get me thinking. Of course, it’s all relative… for some, the thought of riding a thousand miles in a month might scare the shit out of ‘em… for others, it’s a drop in the bucket. For me, it’s a reaffirmation of the process.

M also asked what grade I’d give the weather for the month. I thought for a moment. “This year wasn’t as nice… definitely more bad weather and a lot more wind.” M replied that he’d give it a B-. Thinking about it, I wouldn’t say there was anything above average about the month, so I’m gonna say a C. The past two weeks have certainly been teh suck. Especially compared to the beginning of the month. This graph illustrates it nicely…

That’s for all the riders in the bike to work month contest. As you can see, last week saw a drop in miles ridden… especially Tuesday, which was an ass of a day, if I say so myself. While I suspect not everyone has reported their miles for this week just yet, I have a hunch that the average will continue its downward trend. I am, however, hoping that next year’s Bike to Work Day nets 100,000 miles. That’d be pretty cool.

Here’s to the last ride of the month… to hitting 1,050 miles… to goals… and especially to massage therapists and soaking in baths. Cheers.

The cottonwoods have been shedding their namesake in full effect along the trail, resulting in mini “snow” banks. There’s something tranquil about riding through a bunch of floating tufts of fuzz… even if they do collect in your helmet’s vents.

Honestly, today’s commute was just bizarre. Within five miles of leaving the house, I found myself zip-tying my rear fender onto the seatstay bridge to keep the fender from dragging on the tire. Then, as I rolled up to a stop light at the top of my morning climb, I heard a “pop”. Thinking it was the zip-tie, I checked my fender first… nothing. Thinking I’d been hearing things, I shrugged it off. Until, of course, I started rolling again and noticed something “funky” about the rear end’s ride… Looking down, I saw it immediately. Son of a bitch!! was about all my mind could conjure up. I’d busted a spoke. Drive side, at the head no less. Week-old wheel, busted spoke. Gotta love my luck.

So I zip-tied the busted spoke to another one and rode gently down the other side of the ridge. By the time I met up with K at the checkpoint, I wasn’t in the best of moods. I was fed up with all the mechanicals, flats and bad luck. I vented for a bit, with K mostly laughing at the absurdity of my various bike problems. Then, to add just an ever-so-slight bit of icing to the cake, I had a head-on collision with a bee—it flew at top speed, as far as I can tell, straight into the tip of my nose. Fortunately, it didn’t sting me… but that fucker still hurt.

At work I ran into the usual laughs of disbelief and shaking of heads. “Dude, you really do have shitty luck” was what I heard the most. Part of me knows that, yes, there is a bit of bad luck to it… but at the same time, as D put it, I’m riding about four times as much as most people ride in a month, so chances are I’m going to run into more issues. True… still doesn’t make me feel any better, though. Fortunately, I had an extra spoke left over from the One Way’s wheel building and D helped get me sorted out for the ride home.

I saw M in the locker room just as he was suiting up and I told him I’d catch up once I got rolling. Out the door and a bit cautious with the wheels, I started heading home. A few minutes later I caught up to K and V and chatted with ‘em briefly before excusing myself to go catch M; I told ‘em I’d wait at the trail where M turned off. Not too much further along I caught M, who was riding his new steel touring bike. We rolled at an easy pace for a bit, shooting the usual shit. I asked how he liked the ride quality of steel and he quickly confirmed that he loved it. Sweet—another steel convert.

Once saying farewell to M, I headed out with K and V for the next couple miles. We went our separate ways at the checkpoint and I headed up my first afternoon climb. Everything seemed to be going well… namely, no issues with the rear wheel. Then, while on the descent down the other side of the ridge, it happened.

This descent has always been a sketchy one. There’s no shoulder to speak of, and the road is pretty chewed up along the right side. I’ve found a few good lines that are easy to link together, but it requires a bit of weaving and commitment in spots. Typically, I fly down it around 25 to 30.

So, as I was flying down this descent, I happened to be in a particular patch of road where I had to keep a straight line (lest I drift into the deep cracks in the road on either side). Ahead, I saw a orangish blur of fur run across the lane, then take a sharp left and head straight toward me. There was nothing I could do—I was already on my bakes, but the combined speed of my descent and this dog’s mad dash resulted in an extraordinarily unfortunate encounter…

I know that I hit the dog. I felt the *thump thump* through my wheels and heard the yelping immediately. I thought for sure I’d cleaved the dog in half with my tires, given my speed, weight and my narrow tires. Skidding to a stop off to the side of the road, I turned around to see the owner picking the yelping Pomeranian up. I unclipped and turned around to go talk to the gal. I knew there was nothing I could’ve done, but I still felt horrible. If not cleaved in half, the dog had to have at least a couple fractures and perhaps severe internal injuries.

Once I made it up the hill to the owner’s house, the two people were inspecting their dog with amazement… it appeared that nothing was wrong with it. The man looked at me walking up and asked if I’d seen the person who hit their dog… All I could say was “I’m so sorry, but it was me who hit your dog… is it okay? I’m so sorry… it just ran out in front of me and I tried to avoid it…” They looked at me with astonishment; “Oh my god, are you okay??!? Did you crash? We’re so sorry, she’s never done that before!” We spent a few moments exchanging inquiries about the general well-being of everyone/thing… it appeared as though everything was okay, despite my serious doubts. Even little tiny dogs have adrenaline. I know mine was pumping at full force at that point. With reservations, I continued home. It took a little while for the adrenaline to work its way out of my system… my legs shook on the pedals for at least the next five miles. I think I may take that descent a little slower next time… just in case.

So, there you have it… another freakin’ weird day. To be honest, I’m glad there’s only two more days left of riding… ’cause I’m getting the impression that it’s time for me to take a break.

Four more days. 200 more miles.

The long weekend has offered some much-needed rest. Last week was unquestionably a trying one. While the multiple days of rain and headwinds chipped away at the euphoria left over from the previous week, the multiple flats felt like the real mood deflators. The bus situation, the increased frequency of riding solo and the physical toll of so much riding also contributed. Because of all these things, I found myself asking “Why am I doing this?”

It’s a good question. Fitness, gas savings… they’re great and all, but they’re not my driving force. The Challenge is, I suppose. Pushing myself to new levels, beyond what I’d previously achieved. Chasing my own demons. Though I can’t help but note that I’m “over” those things… in other words, they no longer hold much weight when I ask myself why I’m doing this. Nothing holds much weight when attempting to answer that question.

A few years ago, an acquaintance of mine hiked the PCT and pulled off with less than 200 miles to go until they’d hiked the whole thing. In the grand scheme of the hike, that distance was a drop in the bucket… however they felt that the only reason they were still on it was sheer stubbornness. They no longer enjoyed the process, the hike, the experience… and I respect them a great deal for making that decision and pulling off. In a way, I respect them more because of it.

BKW’s recent entry, The Well, is spot on. I’ve neared the bottom of the well, yet I know that I will bounce back and finish out this week, this month, with a smile. Four more days. 850 miles behind me… just 200 more to go. Almost there.

Then what?

One of these days, I’m going to buy a proper fisheye lens and start carrying my nice(r) camera. In the meantime, stitching it is.

Yesterday’s morning commute brought another flat, this one coming near the top of the hill. That made it three flats in just as many days. The puncture was very subtle and appeared to’ve been caused by a piece of grit that’d worked its way into a previous gash in the tire.

By the time I got rolling again I was running about ten minutes late, so I pushed to catch up with the morning group. Unfortunately, this meant pushing against a headwind once in the valley. I did eventually catch ‘em… but not until the last quarter-mile, and by that point I felt about as useless as one can get. When L looked back and gave me a morning greeting, I had nothing to offer in return and just blankly stared at him before I realized my manners and said “hey”.

At work, I skipped my lunch break and swapped out the old front wheel with the new one and switched the back tire to the front. Despite the tires being installed at the same time, the back one was noticeably more worn than the front… while this wasn’t much of a surprise to me, it was to another coworker. I joked with him that it’s because I just peel out too often, but the truth of the matter is that that’s just where the weight is.

The ride home was pretty decent, though traffic looked horrid. Lines of cars stopped on the freeway and idling at lights.

Before I forget to mention it, an amusing sight from earlier this week: a giant pickup roared past me one morning, and as it did so I noticed a big “Rebel” sticker across the back window, with another sticker that read “Kickin’ Ass and Guzzlin Gas!”… and the crowning touch was one of those trailer hitch nut sacks swinging in the wind. I should get a keychain-sized pair and hang ‘em off my saddle…

No major thoughts or happenings today. Rolled with M a bit before the climb (school bus passed us prior to the hill), met up with K at the checkpoint and rode an easy pace from there. Her legs were still toasted from Tuesday’s headwind, so she sat on my wheel for most of the ride in. Dunno why, but it was kinda nice just riding like that…

The ride home was similarly chill. Four of us rode together for eight miles or so and chatted a bit.

Back in the day, this used to be a standard on a number of mix tapes I’d make. Every once and a while it comes back up in rotation and reminds me to just take it easy.

Things are neither here…

Nor there…