At New Hampshire and Q, I ran into friend of the blog, and purveyor of fine chicken, Michael and we rode together through Dupont down to the Rock Creek trail and along the water to the steps by the Lincoln Memorial. Pictures were taken, chatting happened, and it was, as always, nice to run into him.
Afterwards, I rode past the Lincoln Memorial and the now filled reflecting pool (verdict: reflecty!) on the now paved path alongside the pool (verdict on the paving: pavey!) and I think I made it around the World War II Memorial and the Washington Monument faster than I ever have, mostly because the paths, while not totally empty, were more devoid of people than the other times I've taken them. The Mall, in my opinion, still isn't great for bicyclists and probably won't become so any time soon.
I continued down the mall on Jefferson Drive (which doesn't have sharrows) and I mistook the silver-painted "look at me- I'm a statue" man as an impromptu Neil Armstrong memorial statue, which it was not, and I rolled alongside a pedicab whose driver was sitting side saddle, his body turned at a 90 degree angle from the direction his cab was rolling, his feet propped up on the side of the cab. He didn't have any passengers.
I rode up the House side of the hill, encountered some bicyclists riding down the hill, and then rode for ten paces behind some young women talking about someone who was "92 and could do what he pleases." I imagine if he's 92 there are many things he'd be pleased to do that he can't. If I make it to 92, I hope they've'd invented some new pudding flavors by then.
It was a quiet last mile and it's quiet now still. I keep thinking that it's Friday. It's definitely not Friday.