I have the two cutest cats ever. No competition. I just turned around to see this:
When I'm at the computer late at night, Penny (the gorgeous gray one) is one of three places: on my lap, at my feet or on the chair behind me. When she's on my lap she just wants to hang out. When she's at my feet or on the chair, she's waiting for me to head to bed (and usually when I get up, she beelines for the bed to claim "her" spot).
She and Toby are buddies, but like all sibling-cats run hot and cold with each other. It's nice to see them getting along. It's really late (even for me) and I woke them up while sneaking pictures and they think it's bedtime. For Toby, that means going off to wherever he goes at night (it changes, and it's always well hidden...he emerges once I'm asleep and sleeps by my feet), for Penny that means left side of the bed, right where my hand is going to go (all the better to provide her a pillow).
So, I originally wasn't going to write about this because, well, it just didn't occur to me to write about it. Also, I'm really not trying to turn this into Catherine's Bike Blog, but that's really mostly the interesting stuff that's happening in my life is about right now. (Alright, not the total truth but I'm a little trigger-shy to write about people who don't know they're being written about and who I still don't know all that well yet). Anyway.
So my bike, my Amsterdam, has had this annoying little habit of letting the seat slip down lower and lower until it's as low as it can go and I feel like I'm riding a child's bike and get sore quads. For a while, it happened so gradually I didn't know what was happening. I actually thought it was ME--I was getting more and more used to cycling that I was wanting the saddle up higher and higher as I got more comfortable. That may be partially it. Anyway, the first time I noticed this, I went down to my bike shop to have them raise the saddle for me. It was a sunny Saturday in summer and they were busy so foisted this easy job onto some teenager who hangs around the shop. No problem. Honestly, I didn't care. I saw that he used an Allen wrench, saw which bolt type screw thingy he messed with (sorry, my technical knowledge ends at "Allen wrench") and went to my local hardware store to buy my own set of Allen wrenches (they were out at the bike shop). The kind lady at the hardware store had me bring my bike right in and she helped me figure out which size I needed (a 5).
Fast forward a few months, and I've started to notice that the saddle is lower than I'd left it. Repeatedly. This time I'm SURE it's slipping. On Saturday I went to tighten the bolt thingy with my number 5 Allen wrench but the wrench wouldn't work past a certain threshold of tightness. The bolt thingy (screw? it doesn't look like a screw to me) was stripped. I know ALL about stripping of screws and things like that (I'm a bit of a disaster in the DIY department) so I know a stripped piece of hardware when I see it (that sounds vaguely dirty, I know and I really can't figure out how to re-write it so it doesn't). Worse, it wouldn't even tighten enough to stay where I needed to it even for a little while. Even with just part of my weight on the thing, it would fall down. No good. So I rode down to the bike shop.
There were two of the regular employees there, and one kid. Up to age 16, but that's only if the poor kid is still waiting for puberty. My real guess is 13. There was only one customer in the store. Everyone was back in the shop part doing I don't know what, but there was a lot of chit chatting. After exchanging a quick hello and "oh you need your seat raised?" (which I tried to say, yes but the screw is stripped and I need a new one, but didn't have time to get it out), the 13 year old was sent out to help me.
I explained the situation to the child, and produced the wrench I'd been using. He told me that it was too small and that's why I couldn't tighten it. I told him that it was stripped and that's why I couldn't tighten it. He ignored me and raised my seat and proceeded to tighten the bolt or whatever it is. I told HIM that it needed to be much tighter than that, and demonstrated by pushing down on the saddle with my elbow and some force. It fell. He raised it again, tightened it. I told him to tighten it some more and the wrench started spinning in there, just like mine did. He then said that it was stripped, probably because I had been using too small a wrench (remember: this kid is like 13, I've been in there with a simple fix for much longer than a simple fix should take, there is ONE other customer and no one thought to come out and see what was going on). He went back into the shop to get a new bolt/screw/whatever. He came out with a replacement, tightened it up very well and that was that. I asked him what size wrench he'd used (having actually believed that the stripped screw was my fault).
Size 5. "But THIS is a size 5", I said, holding up my wrench. Which was only met with a shrug and a "I guess you stripped it somehow".
To clarify: My problem was assumed to be so small and easy that a child was sent to deal with it. I was at least one step ahead of this child the whole way. When things got slightly more complicated than tightening a screw, no adult came out to help, or even to make sure that everything was done correctly. A child somehow made me feel like I know so little about mechanics that I created this problem myself which (a) is false and (b) is sexist. There's also a (c) but it makes me a little sad. I think that (c) is that maybe one of the mechanics said something under his breath or to the child to make him think this about me. I really, really want to like this bike shop. It is so close to my house, and it's the place I bought my bike (so they have the parts etc), but this isn't the first time I haven't felt like the most welcome customer there. Although they carry my kind of bike, it is more of a road/adventure bike kind of place, and it almost has a motorcycle shop feel to it. I know at least one of the employees "effing hates" my kind of bike because he told me so (lots of components on the rear wheel--fenders, chainguard, skirtguard etc, makes it difficult to work back there). They always seem like this weird combination of amused and resigned when I show up. Anyway, weather or not one of the mechanics said something to the kid, the fact that this has even crossed my mind is not good, and it disappoints me.
Anyway, it's their loss. They carry the Electra brand (the Amsterdam is just one of many models Electra hasl). Electra has a new model called the Ticino (see the pretty picture from bikereviews.com):
My sister wants a bike for Christmas. I think she'd like this bike. She'll be here for Thanksgiving. I was going to take her out for a test ride. We may have bought the bike from my bike shop because I don't know of any near my parents house that carries Electras. I hung around the shop for a while after the kid fixed my bike, looking to see if they had any Ticinos. The kid came back out from the back after a few minutes, asking if I needed anything else. I explained what I was looking for, he failed to understand, said that the others were busy and that I could come back another day. Well. I'm not going to. I can't. I don't want to take m sister down there if they don't have any in stock, I don't know if/when they're open over the holiday weekend and I work on Monday and Tuesday. Their loss (even if they wouldn't see a missed opportunity to sell this kind of a bike as a loss-- I suspect Electras are too low-end for them the really care all that much). Ah, well.
Because they're only 8 blocks away and because they're almost the only local dealer for my brand, I think I'm stuck with them. But they'd better stop treating me like a girl.
And here's the video, in case the title got that song stuck in your head, too.
First, you must understand that I am on your side. I was once one of you, you, the wretched of the earth, you tired, poor, huddled masses yearning to breathe free. I know that it is not your, but your parent's doing that you are here, that you did not, nay would not, come by choice but by trickery, cohesion, bribery or force. I too, have been a child held prisoner in the laundromat.
I know how unthinkable it seems that you have to be here even longer than you have to be at church, for crying out loud! I know all about the dearth of entertainment options, the grown up television programs so often in languages other than your own, the sickly sweet smell of detergents, fabric softeners and dryer sheets intermingling, the dizzying feeling that accompanies watching the clothes go round and round and round, the heat from the dryers combined with the smell and the spinning threatening to make you vomit. I also knew those other kids who all have candy and won't share, the strange and crazy old ladies who keep trying to talk to you, the head-exploding anger and frustration that comes from realizing that the towels need to go through for yet ANOTHER endless cycle just when you thought this bloody torture was over and, with shame, I know all about the key to the bathroom. The one on the wire clothes hanger, which can never, never be produced quickly enough to prevent a wet pants incident which, in a twist worthy of Nemesis herself, creates yet more laundry to be done and promises to keep you here even longer. The laundromat is, unequivocally, the worst place on Earth.
So I feel for you. I am on your side. So you must understand that what I am about to say is a dire warning. Calm the fuck down or someone is going to kill you. There are some rough looking characters in here and you are getting down to some pretty raw nerves. See that guy over there? The one whose laundry cart you smashed into his knee while you were playing bumper cars with the carts? I saw his hand twitch as if he was instinctively reaching for a knife. Lucky for you, something stopped him or you would have been cut! You're a little young for a shiv scar, kid. See that lady, the one with the screaming infant who you woke up when you went tearing by the stroller shrieking "ready or not here I come"? I'm pretty sure she was gauging which size washer you'd fit in. Those front-loaders lock from the outside! See those bright orange bits ground all over the floor? Those were your cheese curls. You better pray no one’s freshly washed whites fall into one of those piles.
So here’s a quick tip: you can probably stay home with Dad. If it is a Sunday afternoon, there is a sporting event on television. That’s what Dad is doing right now as I type this. Yes, he probably told Mom that you had to go with her because he was going to be fixing this that or the other thing and you shouldn’t be around dangerous tools. Bullshit. He’s watching the Redskins get their asses handed to them. There are many ways that you can ensure that you’re left behind, and you’re probably better at this than I am. My suggestion is to watch for when Mom starts gathering up the laundry from the baskets. If there’s a baby in the house, this will be immediately after he’s been put down for a nap. Start vomiting. If you can actually vomit-on-command, perfect. If not, get creative. Miss the toilet. Cry a little. That ought to do it. If you absolutely cannot get out of going to the laundromat, just watch yourself. Adults don’t like it here any more than you do and you’re one of the reasons why. Try to reign it in or get very, very good at self defense.
(1) I always stop at stop signs and red lights and yield to cars and pedestrians unless waved on. This video looks rather madcap, but that's because it's sped up nearly 500%.
(2) It jumps around a bit because I had to stop to futz with the camera a few times. Sorry.
(3) This was done one LATE morning (starting at 10:30 ish I think), I didn't have to be in until later that day. That's why the trail is empty. It's usually very busy during rush hour.
(4) Music not my #1 choice but it's what Audio Swap (Youtube's legal music) had available that was around 10 minutes. They (frustratingly) do not let you string several songs together. Also, yes, it runs out 20 seconds early.
General info:
I usually take the street all the way up the Mall (from the Washington Monument to traffic circle at the base of the Capitol), but I had to jump on the sidewalk because a bus driver pulled into traffic without first checking his mirrors and I had to make an evasive move. I then went up the sidewalk (really more a path) and then up the unpaved portion just to give alternate views.
The trip takes between 45 and 50 minutes. The Metro takes 35-45 (10 minutes walk from home to Metro, 5-10 minutes walk from Metro to work, about 20-30 minutes on the Metro itself, depending on luck with wait/transfer time). But this way, I get "dropped off" right at the door, get to enjoy the outdoors, get some exercise, not be stuck on the Metro, not have to depend on the ever-breaking Metro, have my personal space, arrive not seasick and get to not spend $6/day.
Oh, and were I to drive that would take between 15 minutes (which is what it took during the week between Christmas and New Year's--a week I did drive) and infinity depending on the traffic (usually about 35 minutes on your average DC day. But one baseball game or flake of snow can and has turned that into 90 minutes). But with driving, I'd have to park off the Hill (no parking space) and walk it (at least 10 minutes). And pay $18/day.
I think this way is much better.
Ack! The margins of this blog aren't big enough and it cuts off the video. Go see it on Youtube HERE.
My commute involves colonial streets, the Potomac river, wetlands, an airport, two rugby pitches, a national monument and museum or two (or twelve), the occasional angry mob and a very steep finish.
The Tweed Ride was a lot of fun. Great route (below), really fun and smart organizers, a great group of people (300ish is my best guess, but I'd believe as few as 250 or as many as 500 so who knows), awesome getups, very positive feedback from bystanders etc. Only issue was the logistics of registration which was kind of a nightmare. But at least 50% of the problem was that I was in a pretty grumpy mood upon arrival (no good reason, just was), so the confusion and "stand out in the sun" aspect of registration didn't help. Neither did the mystery noise by bike was emitting (and which was lovingly attended to by the volunteer on-site mechanics--thanks, guys!). The post-ride party was in a very fitting location visually (made for great photo ops) but was far too small for the group, but then again, so are most places in DC. So ::shrug::.
Also, randomly, I ran into someone I went to elementary and middle school with (in a different city), and who was part of the walking home from school crowd. I haven't seen the guy in nearly 15 years and I go and bump into him at the DC Tweed Ride. Go figure!
Oh, also, my group and I decided to ride to the Gallery Place Metro to go home after the after-party because we felt like riding for a bit more. We tried out the brand-spanking new 15th Street contraflow bike lane (a bike lane that goes against the flow of one-way traffic), which is also the city's first cycletrack (a bike lane with a physical barrier between the bike lane and the traffic lane, rather than just a painted line like regular bike lanes). It was bliss. And it made me envy the Danes and the Dutch even more. They have cycletracks pretty much everywhere they go, as I understand the situation. Which is why even with almost no helmet use, they have less than half the bike fatalities that we do.
I have a couple of hastily-shot photos from the afternoon here, I'll link to better ones from Flickr as they become available!
Us, pre-ride (and me still a little grumpy from the quasi-nightmare that was registration...it wore off quickly)
And some random tweed-riders (mostly taken during registration which was really "hey, stand packed in like sardines in this alley full of broken glass and a bloodthirsty pit bull in the mid-day 70+ degree sun wearing wool for an hour or so with little to no indication as to why you're here".... things got more organized after a while and then it went like butter. But that first hour was a little rough).
During ride:
More later, by far superior photographers! The local papers and the Washington Post were there, too, so who knows?!
I was riding down Prince Street headed toward my entry point to the Mount Vernon Trail to head to work (at the crack-of-dawn hour of 9:30 I may add :) ). There was a FedEx van parked on the opposite side of the street, and the driver was standing there ready to climb back in. We made eye contact so I smiled, as one does on a sunny autumn morning riding about town. I'd never seen her before, but I guess she's seen me. "Wow, you are everywhere", she exclaimed. "I am?", I responded. "You sure are! Have a nice day", was the answer. It was nice.
And the niceness was only modestly spoiled 40 minutes later by some jackass in a pickup truck, waiting at an intersection along the Mall (I think right around the Museum of the American Indian"--a lazy, tree-lined, betouristed street with a 15mph speed limit, and many, many, many faster alternatives. This guy lays on the horn (we're stopped at a red light, I'm in front of him), rolls down the window and yells at me to "get out of the damn street don't I know I'm in Washington, DC". "Washington, DC" was given the same kind of emphasis as might be used if someone were lighting up a cigarette in a hospital--"don't you know you're in a hospital?". Seriously. I turned, smiled and waved, then made sure I made eye contact with the Park Police, who (luckily) were nearby. He blew by me on the next block. I was going 17mph. He... significantly more. Ah, well. I have a good idea who got to work in a better mood today :).
Tonight's return trip was the first one done since daylight savings time went into effect (Monday was a bike-on-the-Metro return trip for various reasons). Dude. It is [freaking] dark out there. Streets--no problem. There are lights on the streets and my bike lights and reflective vest plus my choice of non-busy streets (occasionally populated with assholes) and general city cycling behavior make me confident that I'm just fine on the streets. The trail is a WHOLE other story. Entirely. If I ever do that again (and that's a BIG if) it will be with a bike light the size of the sun. A retina burning, trail flooding monstrosity of a bike light. I nearly ran off the trail at three separate points and don't even get me started on the non-light having, non reflective clothing wearing cyclists and joggers. Especially those joggers who then insist on having their iPods. I mean, that's a special kind of oblivious, no? The worst part is that you're riding facing the northbound traffic on the GW Parkway (separated from it, and often not even in sight of it), but when you're close to the Parkway--you can't see a THING because the oncoming headlights make you completely blind to the trail or anything on it. It is insane. I don't know how people do it, honestly. I noticed quite a few people with these AWFUL lights coming toward me (ouchy on the eyes), but I gather that those are also the same lights, when in use by someone behind me, were a total Godsend. I was sad when those guys passed me because they took their lights with them! Even with those crazy lights, I still don't know how to deal with the oncoming traffic induced blindness.
I'm going to give it another shot or 3--with a monster light, but I may very well pack it in for the season. I do NOT need to go through that every night. Yikes!
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