If it's not yet abundantly clear that I'm not working from much on this post, then you've probably done yourself the favor of skimming the opening paragraph and hopefully this one too. It wasn't a bad night for riding and I saw, I think, the same women riding down Massachusetts that I had seen the night previously and this time I passed her before the intersection with Wisconsin and I didn't see her again because maybe she had a magic ring that turns her invisible or maybe because I outpaced her on her CaBi. There are only a few familiar faces in the afternoon commute up by these parts and that group includes at least one gentlemen in a US Postal Service team jersey circa 1999. He rides a mountain bike and I'm not sure I've ever seen him smile.
I rode in work clothes because I was on my way to attend the DC Bicycle Advisor Committee meeting and I didn't want to appear in my typical biking attire (beekeeper suit, feather boa), but rather pretend to be a marginally professional, employed person concerned with civic engagement and whatnot. My attire didn't hamper my trip, but it didn't add much to it as well. It was just cool enough to not leave me a ruddy mess.
At Massachusetts and Florida, I saw a woman riding her bike while wearing a conical Asian hat. I don't think it was a Yakkay helmet. I cannot speak the relative safety merits of the conical Asian hat. I just know that mandatory conical Asian hat laws discourage bicycling, though they might encourage productive agricultural labor, so it's probably a wash as far as overall cardiovascular health is concerned.
Oh, 21st Street, NW. I want to like you so much. I want to believe that you could be a good route for me to get from roughly Dupont Circle to Pennsylvania Avenue and I do believe that and that's why I took you. (I'm still addressing the street. Address the ball, and whatnot) In theory, were this street not clogged with cars and buses or were it just a little bit wider, it would be a great route. But getting past New Hampshire and then M and then L and finally K is pretty much a nightmare. I alternated my riding "style" between deferent and slow and self-centered and slow and was able to pick my way mostly through the stopped cars, the slowed cars and the rushing to the next light to stop again cars. Near Pennsylvania, I rode on the sidewalk for 30 feet because there was a big box truck blocking the left lane. I am a criminal.
Along Pennsylvania, I passed a guy on a Brompton. I said "I like your Brompton." I'm still waiting for my Bromtpon. It will arrive soonish maybe. Then I'll post a lot of pictures and never shut up about it and you'll have to start reading a totally different bike commuter blog because this one will become all Brompton, all the time and it will plummet from 37th best to 67th best and it won't even make the NCAA tournament of local bike commuting blogs and we'll have to rebuild our whole program and maybe even hire a guy like Bruce Pearl, who, while ethically dubious, might be able to get
our program this blog back to nearish the top. Guy didn't say anything when I complimented his bike. Maybe he didn't hear me.
Speaking of Bromptons, it's entirely possible that I saw Director of Planning Harriet Tregoning on her Bromtpon riding up 15th. Or maybe it was someone else.
A train of bicyclists in the cycle track along Pennsylvania. A mix of sporty types and normal people clothes types. Riding in the other direction was a waiter I sometimes see. He works at Fogo de Chao and his work uniform is neither normal people clothes nor sporty, unless there's some kind of meat-serving sport in Brasil that I don't know about. That would be an excellent sport. Might I suggest we name it Food-bol?
I turned left at 3rd and rode through a tunnel and next to the highway entrance and past the US Tax Court. Here's a picture of the US Tax Court. You might remember it from your eighth grade school trip to DC. That was the last time your middle school ever booked Patriotic Pete's Tea Party Tours of Federal Oppression & Ammo Tour Company.
|Sort of looks like a deChirico.|
After the meeting adjourned, I rode E past Union Station. On the other side of the trainery (not a real word), a man stood next to his bike on the side of the road, staring at his rear tire, which was out of air. The man was wearing gloves and a blue "tech" shirt, but lacked an air pump. I was unable to fight off the bout of good Samaritanism that befell me, so I stopped and offered to help. I learned that these were "brand new tires and a new tube and just installed." I suggested that he try inflating his tire. He did. The air took and there didn't appear to be a leak. Just another phantom flat, I guess. He said that he didn't have much farther to ride. I set off in front of him, battled a tour bus for space when turning around Stanton Circle, circled Lincoln Park and then it with home, where I ate a sandwich for dinner, which was lovingly prepared by the Official Wife.