After my adventure of my extremely loud brakes on the Cross Check the other day, I made some adjustments when I got home and then set the bike aside just in case the adjustments I made didn't actually fix anything. This is the equivalent of the fingers-in-ears-"lalala-I-can't-hear-you" method of winning an argument, but that was my approach and I stuck to it for a few days. Today, I felt myself capable to running the risk of once again encounter extraordinarily loud and embarrassing squeaky bike brakes, but, perhaps due to my intervention or perhaps due to the intervention of magical elves who took pity on my for some reason, the brakes were utterly silent and I was happy to once again by bike on the nice light fenderless summer bike and riding blissfully easily through the astonishingly wonderful summer morning.
Tires might've been a bit low. Can't have things too perfect. Might get spoiled.
There used to be a time around these parts when five or six cyclists stopped at a red light was remarkable, but that time has long passed. It's more remarkable when there's nobody. In fact, I remark 'hey, where is everyone?' and then there's no response because no one's there, but that's also ok because then no one sees me talking to myself.
Some really dashing figures cut their way through town on bicycles. Like, genuinely good looking people, dressed neat, kempt as kempt can be, all astride bicycles. Good for them. I don't think this really says anything about bicycling or bicycling in DC or fashion or whatever, but as far as mobile scenery, it's not bad.
Oh, the other day I saw the license plate POLISCI. That's pretty darn Washington. But, what would Disco Stu say?
Up Wisconsin and Volta and 35th and New Mexico and into the parking garage where my bike rest all day before taking me home down Massachusetts Avenue where I was passed rather closely by a very young driver in a very large expensive car. I think it's funny sometimes that bicyclists are supposed to be cool with the idea of multiton high speed machine being piloted by barely-paying-attention teenagers like this is the normal state of affairs throughout the course of human history. "Let's give our teens the mechanism of death and destruction!" And then, as I do, I thought a lot of medieval Europe and kings and barons and nobles and such as and then was like 'oh yeah.'
I rode on the L Street cycletrack on the way home, as I normally do, and I also wrote about the L Street cycletrack in this week's Gear Prudence. I think my advice is sound, at least sound enough for me to following it myself, but you all (the 9 of you who read this + my mom) are all smart, savvy bikey people, so I'll rely on you to (as bombastically as possible) tell me how wrong I am, either in the comments here, in a drunk text, and written on a note wrapped around a brick thrown through my front window. You do you.
I saw and talked to Kyle (and a fellow Workcycle owner whose name I didn't catch) at 15th and Pennsylvania and then after a few more miles of bicycling I was home.