Can I help you?

Today at Tyson's Corner Mall, I saw the cutest little man. He kind of reminded me of Droopy Dog of Looney Tunes fame. I needed a battery replaced in my watch and when he asked me if he could help me in a feeble old man voice the image was completed!

Help! Call the friend police!

My birfday is coming soon (Cinco de Mayo) and it seems that there is the distinct possibility I am going to be kidnapped!

My pals Dave "the Canadian" and Brian "the Republican" (other conspirators may be involved, such as Tommy "Two Times") are conjurring up some grand scheme. All that I know is that it involves some sort of abduction, followed by what has been described as: "fun."

I am supposedly going to be taken some point this Saturday afternoon and returned sometime Sunday evening. The kidnappers have made no demands, though they haven't really kidnapped me yet.

On a relative note, I will be turning the big 3-Oh. Do I feel like it's going to be a big thing? I honestly don't know. I don't think it'll be a big deal, but then again I am still holding on to my age: only 29.969945355191256830601092896175 years old.

Now we negotiate...

So as I began to leave work today, I felt ill. I was tired and nauseous. The problem was that I needed to ride home.

So I grabbed my bag to go to the locker room to change. The entire time as I walked down the stairs, as I opened my locker, as I changed my clothes, as I locked my locker, as I walked to my bike, pumped my tires (Megan, your pump is really good!), climbed on to the bike, and clipped my foot into the peddle, I was negotiating with my body. I still felt quite ill. A headache was developing...

I had, as we call it in the endurance sport world, bonked. Bonking is caused by an imbalance of fluids, calories, energy reserves, amount of sleep, and general constitution.

Between a sleepless night, lack of enough calories in my dinner (I am trying to lose weight), an improper breakfast, and not enough water and electrolytes throughout the day, I was definitely not in peak condition to ride home.

Another reason might have been it was our first day of above 75 degree weather.

Anyway, standing legs straddled across my bicycle, I strapped on my helmet. The shear feel of the constraining straps across my neck almost made me vomit. Four feet away was my car. In my back pocket were the keys. Then began the negotiation.

"A few miles, we can make it a few miles. If we make it to East Falls Church we can hop on the Metro..."

Then, out of the office came one of colleagues. He too is a bike a commuter. His commute is slightly shorter than mine (7 miles). I start to chat with him and I convince myself if I ride for a little bit, I will probably work out my nausea.

We crossed the street together to the W&OD Trail (mile 17). His commute takes him west; mine goes east. At this point, I thought I really was going to vomit... And yet, what do I do? I joined my colleague westbound.

A few miles later, I finally make the turn eastbound. At this point, the nausea had passed but the headache was strong. The effort to maintain minimum speed to retain my balance on the bike felt monumental. And yet, I see another colleague running along the trail. I again turn westbound to chat for awhile.

I think at this point I had decided I was done and it was less than a mile back to the office and my car. After chatting a little while, I returned to proper course.

Now I approached my start point. My car in sight up ahead. My car in sight to the right. My car out of sight behind me. I negotiated again with my body. "We can make the Metro station."

It was a very painful 10 miles to East Falls Church. Twice I dry-heaved and yet I held the course. Both times in front of very cute joggers. Finally, I approached the Metro stop. My head began to churn. I made a little circle as I approached the turn-off. "Rosslyn," I said, aloud I think. I'm pretty sure I was delirious at that point.

I now was heading to just outside the city, five miles from home, but mostly downhill. Again, the turn-off came and went. I had decided that it would take longer to take the Metro home at this point.

I arrived home, still very nauseous, still with a large headache. And yet, I had ridden 30 miles this way. I had convinced my body that it could do it and it did.

Now, I'm going to go pass out and do it all over again tomorrow.

Okay, I'm a dork. But you have to admit this is pretty cool. 

And it's one, two, three strikes you're out in that old ball game.

Even, I can't help but catch the fever. Baseball is back in Washington, DC.

Regardless of which side Washingtonians were on when the deal was being made, everyone seems to have caught the feeling.

The Washington Nationals bring baseball back to DC decades after the Washington Senators left. It's under a half hour from game time, and it seems that everyone is talking about it. Walking past bars, restaurants, and even convenient stores, I couldn't help but notice all eyes were focused on the TV's with the announcement of the home team.

Little boys with Nationals baseball hats playing in the streets. This city is electric. I overheard two longtime Boston and Yankees fans talking about the "switch" as they sat at the window table in New Orleans Cafe with their Nationals hats on.

As a long time unfan of baseball as a sport, I also am catching it. Baseball has and probably still will be the most boring sport in my opinion. I'd rather, and have, watch curling. But with no hockey to tide me over, I may have to catch a few games at RFK Stadium. I've already got a ticket to a game in June.

If I were to be a fan of any team prior to this season, I would say I'd be a Mets fan only due to growing up near Shea Stadium. However, as an instant Nats fan, it's different. This is my team. I guess you could also say that this is my city.

Diesel. Not Vin.

Two years ago, I went with my speedy friend Jeff to Colorado to ride Bicycle Tour of Colorado. It was 415 miles (668 kilometers) and 32,000 feet (9,754 meters) of climbing in the Rockies over seven days (one rest day.)

I think he and I rode together for 10 of those miles. You see, it started in Colorado Springs and immediately went up... and up... and up. Jeff's 110 lbs (50 kilograms) and 5' 3" (1.6 meters). At the time, I was 180 lbs (81.6 kilos) at 5' 6.5" (1.7 meters). This meant he was a rocket going up. It however also meant, I was a rocket going down. Gravity is funny that way. That whole acceleration, mass and force thing. You know physics!

So essentially, for three days, Jeff would arrive at camp first and set everything up. And I would do the same for the other three. It also meant that we rode with different crowds and essentially came up with different stories. So it worked out for the better that way.

One group of riders I (loosely) rode with fairly often that week, noticed my riding repertoire. I spun and spun and spun up the mountains. I sometime chugged along at a mere 6 mph (9.6 kph) up ascents of as large as 26 miles (41.9 kilometers.) However, on the flats, and more pronounced on the downhills, I was a rocket. At times, I was pulling lines for long periods without need of relief. The group of riders (who also called me "the rabbit" for other reasons most cyclist will understand) decided that my nickname for the rest of the week was going to be "Diesel."

"Why is that my nickname?" I asked.

Think of what diesel engines are most commonly associated with. Trucks and trains. Did you ever see a truck climb a pass? It's a very slow and steady thing to watch. Interrupt the truck's ascent and it'll take a lot of effort to bring it back up to speed. The diesel engine is really good for long hauls across the country. It's good on mileage and can go for a very long time in this way.

Once this was explained to me, I immediately agreed that it was a good nickname. That's me: extremely slow, but steady, on the uphills; steady and long lasting on flats and downhills.

This year, I have already been passed on an up hill by someone on a mountain bike. And I've pulled a group of riders that were in relatively better shape than I am.

I like this second aspect of the nickname. I'm working on getting over the first!

Cherry Fuckin' Blossoms

Yesterday was an amazing day. The temperature climbed to a magnificant 27 degrees. The ride to work was wonderful.

Twice, I gave serious thought to blowing right by work and continuing to ride. First, when I ran into my friend Nancy as she and her friend sipped coffee at the Fresh Fields in Vienna, VA.

Nancy had tried to wrangle a bunch to play hookie and ride to Leesburg, VA all day. All told, it would have been a 90-mile ride. As I sat with them, I told them they had 6.5 miles to convince be to continue on.

Alas, I thought better of it (or worse depending on your point of view) and took off ahead of them to go in to work.

The second time I was tempted was when a group of riders latched on for a pull. I got to live up to my nickname "Diesel" for a few miles. (See next post for why a few riders on Bicycle Tour of Colorado 2003 gave me this nickname.)

But once again, I chose common sense (or cents) and went to work. It was a good thing, however, that I didn't continue on this time. As I locked up my bike, I realized that I lost my water bottle. It dawned on me that as I sat with Nancy, I took my water bottle. So, my water bottle ended up remaining at Fresh Fields.

That evening, I got into my car to return home with the bike securely on the roof rack. It was a glorious day. My windows were down. The sun roof was open. The wind was blowing threw my... eh, beard.

I stopped at Costco and proceeded to head home around 6:15. I arrived home at 9:20. "What happened?" you might ask.

Why did it take over three hours to drive what normally takes about 50 minutes?

The cherry fuckin' blossoms, that's what!

Because of the weather and the timing of the peak bloom of the blossoms, thousands of people were converging on DC to get a glimpse of the stupid trees. Don't get me wrong, I think there fucking beautiful. But three hours in the car made me so mad. The absolute worst part: it dawned on me a half mile from home (still in grid lock traffic), that I should have parked my car and rode the bike home. It would have been much faster.

Frugal? Or just plain a mess?

So I went to Costco yesterday. I am throwing a party this weekend, so I need supplies. There's nothing like a 24 pack of good beer for $12.

I also needed some other things. One of those things was paper towels. When my mom and I were spring cleaning a few weekends ago, mom noticed that I was down to my last roll of paper towels.

I buy the huge 12 pack that they have at Costco. The last time I bought paper towels was the first time I used my membership card, two years ago!

When I went to store my newly bought paper towels, I found that I had not been down to my last roll. There were still three rolls hidden behind the 24 boxes of tissues I have in that cabinet!

Wheee!

The weather is finally beginning to cooperate! Yesterday's ride home was the first time I didn't have to wear all the extra things (ear warmers, jacket, footies to keep my toes warm.) It was great. I really am getting into the swing of things as far as this commuting thing goes. Soon, I'll be able to do it daily. The only problem is, right now, I'm always glued to the weather sites to see what I should bring in for my ride home and for what to wear at work the next day.

For those that don't know, because of the relatively long commute, I am a one way bike commuter.

This means I put my bike on the bike rack of my car and drive to work in the morning. I bring with my riding gear for the afternoon and clothes for the next day. Then in the afternoon, I ride my bike home 21.5 miles. The next morning, I ride in and put my bike back on the bike rack of my car. Typically, I've been doing this once a week, but soon I think that it'll be easy to do two sets a week. (Damn five day work weeks!)

I used to, and still do, get a lot of strange looks when I explain to folks what I do. But more and more I'm meeting people on the trail that do the same thing. Last week, I helped a guy with a flat who commutes from Leesburg to DC (Leesburg is home, DC is work) in this way.

Working only eight hours a day seems to help with the extra time for commuting. (That's a whole other story.) All told, it takes close to an hour and a half extra each day to commute this way. With all my commitments this is an hour and a half that is hard to give up. But then again, am I really giving it up to be doing something healthy and fun?