Brrrrr-ing It! *EDIT*

I dunno 'bout th' rest y'all, but it's winter time out here in Virginia. What does that mean to Y.T. as a year-round cyclist? Rosy cheeks, shrinkgage, and winter cycling gear. I'm applying the term "year-round cyclist" to myself mostly on credit, as lately I've been one lazy turd. It's not the weather, it's that I just cannot get up at 5:00am. Unless there's something exciting going on, like free food or ye Olde Towne Orgy, I just can't motivate myself. Here in a few weeks I'm going to try and switch schedules, see if I can't sleep in a bit and still catch the bus.

But anywho, that's not what I want to talk about. Apparently there is a class of rider out there who has a "season" of cycling, where "bad" weather and the winter months have them leaving their bicycles in the garage until the weather is "nice" again. That kind of baffles my mind. I can think of nothing more irritating than not riding a bike at least every other day and then having to build my legs, my stamina, and my minivan tolerance back up from square-effin'-one. How much of a pain must it be to just stop cycling at your physical peak and then, months and months later, try to match the same performance level the mind and body must remember from before. Or trading the freedom of the outdoors for basically a glorified exercise bike, if you use indoor trainers. No spanks.

"Bad" weather can be exciting on a bike. And the more time you spend in "bad" weather, the more and more it actually takes for you to classify it as such, until you find yourself one day happily remarking that as long as you're riding with the arm of the hurricane it's really quite fun. I like riding in the rain. I like it when it's cold. I'm faster the chillier it is outside. Hot weather... welllll, sometimes when it's super hot and humid I feel like I'm gonna die, but that has a certain enjoyment to it too. Afterward. The wind can be a bitch, but it can be your bitch if the situation is right. I always enjoy the special treat of having a nice tailwind and it's completely silent around me as I zip along at eighteen-plus miles an hour with minimal effort.

As any outdoorsy person will (annoyingly) tell you, there is no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothing. This is completely true, unless it's raining meteors. Then that's bad, and no amount of clothing can help you. The right configuration of clothing will be the difference between having a fun story and a sense of accomplishment at the end of the day, and being in a crap mood and having a tiny, chilly willy. Or sore nipples. Or both.

You may not even have to buy anything, if you don't want to. Do you have any skiing/snowboarding gear gathering dust in the closet? Do you have enough clothing items that if you put them on at the same time they'd make layers? Do you possess duct tape and plastic baggies? Then you probably have everything you need. The biggest difference between my "good" weather gear and my cold weather gear is the layers.

With the windchill lately it's been below freezing nearly every time I get on a bike, yet I find myself getting sweaty and rolling back sleeves after only a few minutes into the ride. This is not due to expensive, bike-centric, cold weather gear. True, some of my items are geared towards cyclists (ha!), but the majority are not. For instance, up top I wear a Merino wool t-shirt, a cotton zip-up hoodie, and a polyester vest from Forever 21 or my Solo gilet to keep out some of the wind. When it gets really cold (twenty and below or so) I just add wool arm warmers. On bottom I wear some Merino wool undies, jeans or knickers, and wool socks with toe covers over my cycling shoes. Again, if it gets super cold I'll wear simple long underwear/longjohns or leg warmers. I have fingerless gloves that turn into mittens and a winter hat that will fit under my helmet. The combo of items mentioned above could get me through any non-Icicles and Bicycles type of winter condition. The pic above was taken at the time of this writing when it was chilly and windy enough to produce a huge snow flurry, and is my default cold gear configuration.

I do have some bike-specific clothing items I've accumulated over the year-plus which aren't cheap but are totally worth it. Number one with a bullet are my Swobo Bruno wool knickers. The are without a doubt the spendiest clothing item I own, but they are also the favorite and most useful when the mercury begins to dip. I got them with my hefty tax return and I don't regret it one bit. My only regret is that I have but one ass for them to cover, and that I can't wear them year round. I also have a gilet (which seems to be a fancy way of saying "vest") from Solo, as well as some arm and leg warmers on their way now. I know this is sorta against the whole You Don't Gots to Spend Money to Bike All Year theme of this post, but if you're gonna do it (like I do it) it can be handy to see what other peeps are using.

You may notice a re-occurring theme in my clothing items. No, not the cross-dressing. Wool. Say it with me: WOOL. Merino wool to be exact. Merino wool is what you'd get if you crossed an angora bunny with a sheep. Soft, awesome, insulatey goodness. It doesn't itch, it isn't scratchy, you can sweat in it over and over and it doesn't get smelly, and it keeps you toasty without keeping the moisture in. Wool retains heat when it's soaking wet, and even when it's frozen. It's magical. If you are looking to get some new stuff for riding in the cold, I'd recommend you go in for wool. My knickers, socks, underwear, t-shirt and tanktop (in the summer), gloves, arm and leg warmers, a hat or two, and my balaclava (for those really cold, windy days) are all wool. I'm in the market for a wool jersey now, and if I could produce wool instead of body hair, I would.

One thing I have not mentioned that is always available, always free, and does nearly all the work of keeping a body warm in cold conditions, is the heat your body produces naturally. Just sitting there, like you are now, your body is producing heat. And when you exercise it only produces more. The harder your ride, the more your body works, and the more internal heat you will produce for your clothing to keep in. The faster you go, the warmer you'll be, as opposed to something like riding a motorcycle in the cold, where more speed only equals more wind. Ride hard and you will be comfortable, maybe even hot, as your breath steams along behind you in little puffs like the world's cutest locomotive. Drivers give you more space and respect (as my own experience has shown) and you'll be pleased with yourself. Plus, winter is a beautiful time of year, too beautiful to spend scurrying between one climate controlled bubble to the next.

So remove that bike from your garage, throw on some layers, and get your ass out there. Cuz Santa doesn't like quitters.

- David

*Shrug*

After getting picked up after the Halloween race, stumbling and sauced, my night was about over. But my buddy Kurtz's night was just beginning apparently.


I don't know no details, but apparently my silent but deadly amigo spent the night in a real locked box, no imagination necessary. He is the Tyler Durden to my Edward Norton. I'm sure potential employers are happy about it, but right now I'm wishing my criminal record was a little less white cotton panties and a little more crotchless leather.

It rained balls today. I got misted on during my mile and a half ride to work, but it was real purdy and refreshing. Then it poured and poured and poured, and as I changed into my rain clothes I knew I wasn't taking the bus today. I'm a fowl weather rider; the shittier the weather, the more I want to cycle in it. Unless it's something like 23 mph right in my face. And even then I'd consider it. As it was, the wind felt like 23 mph right against my back. I rode the entire 8.5 miles home, rain, wind, and people nosing their fat asses out of parking lots and all. It was awesome. I love the rain. My junk is drying as it hangs on my drying bike right now.

I'm sneaking in about four hours of overtime this week. See me stroke my mustache maniacally. I need the money.

Obama is President. I'm happy, I just wish I could have been in a bar or someplace public when it was announced. I heard that shit was loud. In related news, I don't have to move to Canada yet. Thanks, America.

I've been eating a lot, but not biking a lot. That needs to change.

Family life is good. I love my cat, and she loves me. I love my dog, she's so smart and pretty. I love Bunny, the old hermit of our clan. I love Kasey, she gets lovelier every day. And the guy in the mirror is passable, dome days.

Nighty.

- David

Any pictures you see in this blog that don't suck are not taken by me, and I am not taking credit for them. I always link the image to the photographer's web page.

Adven-tar!

This is a post I wrote but didn't finish writing until today; I found it while I was adding tags to all my entries.

I've said many times that everything on a bicycle becomes a little adventure. Whether it's jaunting to the (recently non-depressing) Dollar General or out further to 7-11 for a few items, or across the river to meet a friend for lunch or read at the Barnes and Noble "library", or meeting your girl at the mall to try on sweaters, it's all a lot more fun on a bike. If I had to hop in a car and drive out to any of those places everytime I wanted/needed to it wouldn't be fun, it'd be a royal pain in the ass.

For example, by cycling and taking the bus to work I get the benefit of enjoyable excercise and being delivered promptly to my destination while I read and eat a breakfast bar or take a nap. And instead of, say, swinging by my apartment on the way home and picking the gal up, then driving back Downtown, then paying for/finding a parking spot, she takes a ferry ride and a walk while I bike and we meet up in the middle. Fantabulous.

Even just getting onto the base on a bike is an adventure. Unless I'm carpooling with a fellow employee the closest I can get dropped off to my actual building is exactly a mile away. One day I had fun not getting run over by a dumptruck (and scarily recalling all of the lorry/HGV tragedies I've read at Messenger of Doom or Moving Target) and then racing not one but two dumptrucks across a flat street and winning. I'm getting a plaque made now, "David: Faster Than a Dumptruck Going the Speed Limit".

If I was really pushing this whole thing to it's limits, I could even say I outran the law that day. Being late (like I was) and posessing... flexible cycling ethics (like I do) I took a few shortcuts to try and speed that mile along. As I came to a long line of cars waiting to turn left I deceided not to wait. I crossed the oncoming lane, hopped up on the sidewalk, made the corner, and hopped back onto the pavement between some traffic cones, and went along my merry way.

Not one second later I hear the frenzied whistle of the cop directing traffic in the intersection behind me. I was not stopping, clinging to the code, "It's better to beg forgiveness than ask permission." I didn't look back, and I'm sure he didn't chase me. But it was exciting for a moment. I laughed at/to myself as I pedaled along, sweating in my work clothes, wondering how late I'd have to stay to make my ten hours. I find myself laughing a lot on a bike.

When was the last time you had a fun story to tell about your car ride to work?

- David

Fackin' Buses

Today I hate buses.

This morning while doing my daily Sprint de Busstop I approached an intersection at the same time as an HRT bus coming from the opposite direction. I'm in the far-right lane going to turn right, and the bus is in the turning lane, set to enter the same street as me. I have the green light and I'm traveling faster than the bus. My bright-ass Knog light is blink-bliking, my vest is red and has reflective bits, there are working street lights all around. I can see the bus driver's face.

I'm looking at the driver, he's apparently looking at me. At this point I haven't indicated with hand gestures or smoke signals or body language that I'm turning. For all he knows I'm going straight on through the intersection. My light is still green, not yellow or red.

As I approach the crosswalk lines at speed, suddenly he accelerates and begins to turn right in front of me. I'm making a face at him (that he probably couldn't see, he was looking into the turn) like, "What the fuck, man? I thought we had an understanding." Had I been going straight and not looking right at the bus I would have run smack into it, or under it. I had to brake moderately hard and turn down my intended street, and still I ended up close alongside the bus about 3/4 down it's length.

Now, I did not signal my turn because I wasn't crossing any lanes and the bus was the only other vehicle on the road. Plus I believe legally I had the right of way and, silly me, I expected a city bus to respect that. It wouldn't have made any difference, the bus would have cut me off either way. In fact if I hadn't been turning it could have been wose as I may have been going faster and been in the middle of the intersection or unprepared to turn as Mr. Buspants decided to cut Y.T. off. 5:27am is way too early to be dodging buses and avoiding crushity death.

I've had an HRT bus push me into another lane before, and that was scarier, probably because I was still new to the commuting world and those rear-engine buses sneak up on you. But this was just angering. Probably because I always background-expect shit like this to happen. I need to start keeping my u-lock within reach and tapping on windows and shit, get me some respect. Or some missing teeth...

At any rate, bike rack was full today. I biked home, laid down for twenty minutes, then drove it in. I'm just going to start using a bus stop further down the route, or hitching it through the tunnel. I wish I could go around HRT all together. Except for the ferry. I love the ferry.

Today is my Friday, I'm ready for it. Take me.

- David

If You Wanna Be My Stalker

You gotta get with my blog.

Yesterday, much to my surprise, I found my lower-half pedaling right past the bus stop on my way home as my upper-half looked around like, "Wha- Ooooooh." Then upper- and lower-half pedaled right on down Hampton Blvd and all the way home without any prompting or prodding from your humble narrator.


View Larger Map
It was quite nice. The weather was cool, there wasn't any wind, and as far as I can tell no one tried to run me down.  Hell, no one even sped angrily past me. I tell people all the time how "adverse" weather conditions like the cold and the rain make drivers a little more respectful of cyclists, but it really is quite surprising to see.

After the bridge I had to stop and take my sweatshirt off though, and an old lady walked past eying me warily as she approached.  I smiled and huffed (it's a hilly bridge), "It's warmer than I thought!" She grinned, apparently convinced I wasn't a hoodlum intent on striping down entirely and/or stealing her purse. Clothed thus in wool undershirt and my new Flash t-shirt, I biked through Ghent and Downtown Norfolk with pink arms, face, and fingers from the chilly air. A woman pulling out a parking lot had to wait for me, stern-faced as most drivers are, and I was able to elicit a genuine smile from her as I went past and beamed a full-faced thankful grin in her direction. Waiting for the ferry a young father told me liked one of my new stickers. "Tootie fuckin' frutie man, I like that." I had just been listening to his wife tell their toddler she was going to have to put her in the river if she didn't say mamma, which apparently she can do but refuses to. All in all a most enjoyable commute.

Today though, I took too long in the shower (and I had to take one, it'd been days. Don't judge.) and missed the bus. When the weather is fine you can count on the bus being late, but when it's cold you have no room to play with. I pulled up four minutes after 5:30 and it was gone gone gone. So I biked slowly back home, defeated, not looking forward to getting Kasey out of bed to drive me. But we were both in luck as she didn't need the car today and I got to take a thirty minute nap before heading out again, although apparently I should have made it only fifteen or so. I was late today.

I think my remaining pug has realized Riley isn't coming back from wherever it was she's been this whole time. She seems forlorn, as forlorn as a half-retarded pug can look I suppose. It's so hard to filter out what is probably projection. The vet said she would get moody though, at least for a while. I think Tilly is feeling it too. Riley was a huge presence in that house, with her constant pug-noises, licking of inanimate and invisible objects, and constant following of Yours Truly. Every time a helicopter goes by my brain gets set to yell something at her. I'm sad she's gone.

The last few months have just been a mess. It feels like I'm just scraping by, barely surviving. It's so hard to clean, get out of bed, be constructive, do anything that isn't just trying recuperate from lord knows what by lying around and eating. I miss my family. I feel so guilty about not calling them that I continue to not call them, and then feel guilty again. I have this weird thing with calling my family, where if I don't have anything good to report I don't feel like I should be calling. Which is totally ridiculous, I know. They never put pressure on me to do anything. But I want them to think I'm happy, and doing good in life, and all that junk. And while in my opinion I am, not everyone shares my standards. I'll call soon though, I keep having dreams about them.

I just passed down my first u-lock to my good friend David BS. It feels a little like passing a torch. Maybe he'll get into cycling in a big way and I can say I gave him his first good bike lock. Or maybe I'll be called to the witness stand regarding the brutal maiming of someone with a blunt object that has my fingerprints on it. David BS is the kind of friend that would do that, and I'm the kind of friend that would try to cover for him.

Sweet, I just got approved to go home early. I could stay late but... I'm not gonna. I got forms to print out and send in and dogs to walk and free coffee to consume and girls to kiss. Adios.

- David

Edit: Apparently I should not try e-mail in posts that contain HTML, apologies for the ugly mess.

Stickin' It to The Man

With swear words, rebel skullz, facial hair, and stroke-faces:



I got some long-wanted stickers from Kenny & Emily when we visited them in NC this weekend, and as soon as I got home I stuck on my lil' Jenny to make her more bad ass. It's common knowledge that in yer face stickers add speed and handling to a bike like racing stripes do to a sports car. If I could get two more awesome longer black stickers for my forks I'd be set. Maybe something about NAMBLA...

I had a dream the other night of hanging out in a cyclist bar, where you could bring your bike inside and all the tables were high so you could sit on your seat and drink at the same time. My buddy Kurtz was there and we were doing shots and drinking beers and having spontaneous track stand competitions with modifiers like crossed arms or keeping the liquor on our tongues. It would work I tell ya, until the head injury lawsuits came in.

Now that the weather seams to have turned cold I may try riding a few more miles into work, see how that works out, even though Hampton Blvd is horrendous. The first time I almost get ran over from behind though, it's over. That's one atrocity I have not yet had to endure.

OT is back. Woo. Although I will need the money, but still. *Sigh*

I'm eating free "expired" pastries and laughing it up inside a closed Starbucks. Good times, good time.

Take care, y'all.

- David

Don't Let Anyone Blame You For Tryin'

But you cannot put a smoothie in your messenger bag and expect to make it without incident.  I didn't even make it onto the bike.

And the double-decker egg salad sammich didn't fare too well either.  I dunno if it was the twenty mile-per-hour wind or my apparent inability to transport food on a bike, but I returned from a hasty lunch run sticky and with some kind of egg salad sandwich/potato chip hybrid food in a bag.

Guess it's time to invest in some kind of collapsible rack or something.

 - David

Madness, Be Gone!

At least that's what I'm hoping is happening.

Ever since October started work has begun to simmer down, and I'm actually getting my official amount of days off. I also started a new schedule which appeals to my laziness: two days on, one day off, two days on, two days off, repeat. I was even mandated to stay at home this Monday for Columbus Day or whatever the hell it is when I was all set to work it. After three months of straight Mandatory OT, this is a welcome change.

On Tuesday I hung out at Kasey's Starbucks for hours and hours and attempted to catch up on the 1000+ webcomics, blog posts, and other ephemera that make up my own little consensual hallucination that is the Interwebs. As I stated in a Tweet that day, I had been feeling that some ingredient of joy was missing from my life, and I discovered that ingredient is webcomics. People can (and do) make me laugh pretty easily, but whether it's my face or my affinity for licking frosting off utensils that are not my own it's mostly me doing the jesting. It's so nice to have someone giving me a little taste o' that medicine. And Dr.s Stevens, Jaques, Bevan & Earle sure can deliver. I feel more like my old self than I have in months.

Now if someone could just give my girl and my dog some healin'. Kasey still has the stomach flu (or a baby, whatever) and now my dog is sick. Maybe there's something in my apartment... Like a deadly spider that's feasting upon us one by one. Or a gas leak. I'm not making the same mistake I did with Gerbie though, and Riley the pug has an appointment with the vet first thing tomorrow morn. I swear, if one more living thing falls ill I'm going Hannalore on my apartment's ass. Maybe it's time to pull up the allergen farm that is all carpeting and damn the consequences when move-out time comes. Not like they aren't going to replace it anyway.

At the risk of sabotaging myself (because it always seems when I let a portion of the internal (non-)workings of my mind out into the world, that portion loses it's power) I've vowed to take public transit to work every single day this month without fail, except on Sundays as HRT has deemed it unnecessary to help Carless Joes like me get across the river. So far it's worked out, even though I have had to skip frivolous things like showers in the name of the cause on occasion. I have been a bad cyclist. But yesterday I felt a familiar pulse in my legs and knees that said to me, "Oh yeah, we did some pedaling today," which is a good sign. As the weather turns cold my old gear is coming out of retirement; I missed my woolen socks and someone completely forgot about my bombproof wool knickers.

I need a costume for Halloween. Any ideas? It needs to be awesome, and something I can ride a bike in. Critical Mass and a bike race are both falling on All Hallow's Eve and I need to come correct. Right now my only idea is dressing as every Asian stereotype I can pull off at once, but we'll see. I welcome suggestions.

Right now I think I'll play Food Delivery Bike Guy and see if these tired Starbucks employees want anything from the Olde P-Towne area to sup.

Have a good un', lads and lassies.

- David

Max Fischer: [to Rosemary] I'm sorry, I just came by to thank you for WRECKING MY LIFE!

Don't State, Insinuate

Are y'all familiar with the world's shortest horror story?
"The last man on Earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock on the door..."

Uh huh, I see you shakin' in ya booties.  I thought about that story on the way to the bathroom just now, and when someone walked in as I was walking out it scared the crap out of me.  Why?  Cuz of all that story leaves unsaid.  The mind runs wild with posibilities when the gate is left open.  Why is he the last man?  Was there an apocalypse?  If so, what kind?  Animal, vegetable, zombical, other?  And who the hell is at the door!  Vague things are scarier than defined things, any day.  I'd even venture to say that vague anything is better than defined anything, any day.  Magic tricks, movie endings, sexual promises, all better when you don't try to cram it into a little box.

There's a quote somewhere that I've remembered for years about how human language is made up of eight basic sounds or something, but I can't find it.  (Literally an hour later) Oh wait, here it is: "Language consists of five basic sounds produced by the vocal cords. They are the vowels a, e, i, o, u. The other sounds are consonants produced by air pressure: s, f, g, and so forth."  So it was more than eight, but less than fourty-four.  Anyway, people's thoughts are defined by their language; what makes us think that which we think could ever encompass what is really there, based on such a limited number of simple sounds?  That's why the undefined is scarier/more beautiful/more honest than the defined.  How much more is said with a caress than with words?  I didn't really have a point with all that, I'm just sayin'.  It's slow today, sue me.

The weather has been beautiful lately.  Too bad I've been a lazy turd and have ridden exactly .03 miles per month.  It's really more than that, but it doesn't feel like it.  I need to get out on Saturdays again, even if it's by myself.  I've made a goal internally to not drive to work a single day in October, come Hell or high water, which is still better maneuvered on a bike.  Speaking of, we had craaaazy rain storms on Thursday.  A bunch of the roads I would have taken home were closed due to flooding and once or twice the highest speed setting of the wipers couldn't keep my vision cleared.  It was fun, I love bad weather.

Animals are good, Kasey is good, friends are good, Walden is good, Story of O was good (but ended badly), Lady Vengeance is good, Virginia is good, I'm good.  Just need to relax; I made fun of a fat guy yesterday without even realizing it.  Time to take more naps.

 - David

God Damn Cyclists

And I mean that sincerely.

You know how certain people get about certain movies/music/books they really, really like? How if other people hate them, then they're just retarded retards anyway. And if other people like them, then they're poser douchebag dickheads? Yeah, that's how I am with cycling lately.

Before, my love of cycling was a lot more accepting in nature: "You ride bikes too?! Then you are my brother and can do no wrong." Now it's much more, "Fucking cyclists! Get the fuck off the sidewalk/road/face of the Earth!" This thought goes through my head even if I'm currently on a bike. Why this sudden change? I think it has a lot to do with the fact that I can't get my sorry ass to work without leaving my bike locked to a fence at some bus stop because rusty, mis/disused, hobo-ghetto bicycles are always filling up the racks. And the recent proliferation of inexperienced cyclists out on the road doing shit like riding down the wrong side of the road and nearly killing me, themselves, and my faith in man in the process.

Give me the cold days, the rainy days, the shitty weather days over a nice sunny day. At least then I don't have to worry about some pasty office worker in spandex on a beach cruiser fucking with my chi. Good weather brings out the Good Weather Riders, which have about as much experience on a bike in traffic as I do on a donkey under water. It's not that they're intrinsically stupid (actually, there's a good chance they are) it's mostly that they have no idea what the hell they are doing. Imagine me, David the blogger, deciding to try being a rodeo clown. I go out into the pit or whatever the hell it's called, and then wrap a blanket over my head and proceed to stumble about. I may get lucky and keep all my plasma inside my body, but more likely than not I'm going to get myself and somebody else hurt. That's what I see when a person who only bikes on "nice days" goes by: A rodeo clown with a blanket over their head, who doesn't even have the decency to wear those huge clown pants so I can be spared the intimate details of their saggy anatomy.

Now all Asshole Elitism aside, I do like people riding bikes. It makes me happy to see people happy as they pedal along, enjoying the breeze and the smooth exercise. But if you're going to do it, do it right. Know the rules of the road, right-of-way, and traffic laws, so that when you ignore them it can at least be a conscious decision and maybe done correctly enough to not cause any misfortune. As for my own part, I read and I read and I read until I figured I couldn't read anymore. Then I rode to work for two days and read a whole bunch more I discovered I didn't know. I'm still doing that to this day.

But don't be fooled, you can't learn how to navigate the dangerous and sexy Metal Stream of Traffic from blogs and books. It has to be done before you can know how to do it. Just like porkin'. You are going to fuck up and you are going to piss off motorists and other cyclists alike along the way. Hell, I'm sure I do it every time I saddle up. But as experience grows you fuck up less, and the fuck ups become more slight, and then before you know it you're only pissing motorists off on purpose. (Actually that's a lie, there's no way to not piss off motorists, on a bike or not.)

When it gets cold again I'm sure my tune will change. People find ways to get where they're going inside shiny happy vehicles when the temperature drops and forget all thought of biking. Even motorists are a bit more tolerant when it's twelve degrees outside or raining gallon-droplets on your head. Then I'll be all excited to see a fellow cyclist out on the road and my brotherly love will come flooding back until the seasons change yet again and a new flood of n00bs arrives.

But then again, I'm sure there's someone out there who views Y.T. in exactly the same light.

- David

Ketchup

Macaframa from MACAFRAMA on Vimeo

I love Macaframa. At the beginning of the above video I figured some kind of bunny hop action would happen, but I should have known it wouldn't be that simple. I'm totally gonna try this now (and eat shit in the process.)

Speaking of surprises on bicycles, I had a few good ones this week. I dunno if it's the weather or what, but people are being assholes again. For a while there I wasn't getting honked at, yelled at, gestured at, nothing. When I first started cycling I got yelled at weekly for about a month or two. This could very well be due to the fact that I was just starting out and I wasn't doing shit correctly or smoothly. But also, it was this time last year that I started, so maybe it is the weather.

At any rate, yesterday I was slowly partaking of the sidewalk to get around a mess on Granby (which is a narrow two-way street in downtown Norfolk) caused by a power company truck blocking one lane and a city bus trying to get around it while on-comming traffic tried to decide if it was going to stop and let it or not. I was rolling along at about jogging speed or slower and I came upon your typical teen/twenties guy: Backwards fitted baseball cap, long shorts, and t-shirt by some bad that probably sucks. I was preparing a line to go around him when he turned his head, saw me, and moved over well before I was near him. I appreciated it and said "Thanks!" as I rolled by, but before the word was even out of my mouth he says something like, "...the fuck where you're going." Ooookay. I'm already gone by the time I register what people have said to me so I just ride on. Maybe I startled him and he was trying to compensate.

On Wednesday when I decided to take on the hill I've been avoiding lately, I had the pleasure of getting gassed by a pickup truck spraying mosquito poison. It had a sign on the back that warned people to stay back 100 feet and here I am, out in the world, not surrounded by my own little bubble of AC and filtered air, getting sprayed. The scariest thing somehow was that the cloud of whatever it was coming out of the back of that thing tasted slightly minty. Luckily after a few blocks the truck turned down a side street. Then the hill came. I was all jazzed to stand up and get some good burn going and had just started to do so when I noticed a cyclist in the bike lane ahead of me. A second or two later I realize he's coming down the hill.

One of the things I hate more than anything are cyclists who don't know what the fuck they're doing riding on the wrong side of the road. I'm not even going to wait and play that game where we hesitate and then both move into each other's path again. I start looking over my shoulder to see when the SUVs and rice rockets in the lane directly next to me will be gone so I can get over. Finally an SUV from Idaho gets over for me and I'm able to get out of the path of the angry black man barreling down on me.

Now, in my mind I'm going, "Fucker, you're on the wrong side of the road!" but we're going too fast and I don't like to be a dick unless it's part of some role playing me and my girl are currently enjoying, so I don't say anything. However as we get close he raises his fist and yells in my face "Get the fuck over!" Right. This doesn't even bother me like the kid on the sidewalk sorta does because obviously I did get over and I'm 100% in the right here. Which is really what people care about above all else. In a world run by rules I dictate, he would have said "Thanks for getting over!" because he had no where to go but into direct traffic or somehow hop up over the tall curb and onto the sidewalk.

Not all surprises were bad however, as I randomly ran into someone I knew while we were both on bikes. This may happen to a lot of you cyclists out there, but for me, it never does. I guess I'm always going a specific somewhere instead of "hanging out" and that lowers the probability of a chance encounter. As I waited for traffic I saw a guy named Wes go by, who's pretty much responsible for Critical Mass here, and decided to chase him. I caught up with him after a few lights and had to yell to get his attention as he was listening to music. We chatted a bit navigating through Downtown and then parted ways as he was on his way to work. It was weird to see him on a bike that wasn't his tandem or attached to a trailer with his kid in it.

On my way home a guy on the sidewalk asked me how much my bike weighed while I waited for a light. He asked if I was a messenger (I did not have my bag, so there) and I of course said no. But man, that would be pretty awesome, if for no other reason than I love riding bikes, it's fun to be outside, and sitting on my ass all day in front of a computer is getting old. Maybe one day. I wouldn't turn it down.

- David

A Year of Bike Commuting

Sunday, dear friends, marked my one year bike commuting anniversary. Woo! Apparently I set a calendar reminder and totally forgot about it until a text showed up proclaiming the event.

It's not a big thing, but I am proud. The only things I'm really able to continue doing for an entire year is your moms, so this feels like a real, albeit subtle, achievement. Kinda like, "Oh, I've been coming to this same bar for a year." If you've know me personally for any decent length of time you're aware I'm not a big goal setter. This just happened, and I'm glad.

Let's do math! This is going to be so horribly generalized that it's nowhere near accurate, but so what. It's my party. Before I got let go I was commuting 6.5 miles each way. I worked there for about nine months, if I remember correctly. So that's 2,340 miles right there. Then for months and months I was doing 24 to 35 miles every Saturday with the Portsmouth gang. Let's say I did that for... six months at an average of 29.5 miles. There's another 708 miles. All together, 3,048 miles in less than a year strictly going to work and riding on Saturdays. That doesn't count the few races, numerous store runs, and general daily dicking around I do on two wheels. Hells yeah, that's a lot of miles.

Even though it's vaguely unrelated, the recent truck-ectomy I've undergone makes my transition to the dark side feel complete. I do still drive Kasey's car on occasion but if she ever found my collection of questionably-legal "reading material" I'd be four-wheeled vehicle free. Concerning the aforementioned removal of my truck, I would like to say I paint it cleaner and prettier than it actually was. I do like being bicycle-only, but I don't like the way it went down, and I apologize to those that had to deal with it.

As other peeps online (see the Stalk Others section, stage right) have already said, it's not really about saving money or the environment (which are both good) although I admit to resorting to charts & graphs regularly when attempting to convert non-riders. Cycling is a huge complex of simple pleasures, beauty, and logistics all working smoothly together to produce a phenomenon that's just good. I feel dumb trying to name it so I'm done. Just try it. Twice. Even if it hurts the first time. ;)

In celebration I rode My Girl Friday, recently retrofitted with a front brake, into work yesterday. I want to take her out more, but she's like the hot teen-aged daughter I hope to never have: I think everyone wants to take her away from me and do horrible, horrible things. I see them eying her as we go by, leering like construction workers. Jenny is the tomboy, I don't worry about her much. We'll see how it turns out.

In closing, I'd like to thank Kasey for putting up with my ever-increasing bike dorkiness, and my friend Kurtz for being the first car-free guy I know and showing me it could be done with style and a hefty drinking schedule. Also Google Maps for only steering me wrong once out of a million routes, and all the guys at Cycle Classics for fixing my shit and giving me a place to hang. And God. Because I feel Him in this blog tonight. But not Jesus. Jesus can suck it.

- David

Vain Davey

I get off the bus.  I'm already wearing cheap rainpaints rolled up to the knees over my jeans, similarly rolled.  Two thin neoprene toe-covers are stretched over the first half of my scuffed black and white sneakers.  My helmet, huge and red and hated, is already damp from being left outside all day.  A tight black cycling cap under that.  Sleeveless wool undershirt, white cotton t-shirt.

Waiting for a break in three lanes of commuter traffic.  LEDs blink brightly (one hopes) in the heavy raincloud light.  One foot shoved into a shiny metal toe-clip with a cheap strap.  Looking over my shoulder at the white lights of oncoming cars it begins to drizzle.

Cutting diagonally across the moistened black road thunder cracks so close and loud I duck over the handlebars.  Behind me a smattering of cars approach as they float down the bridge.  The wind can't decide which direction to blow.  The air is cool.  I'm behind a line of cars, waiting to turn onto a more quiet street.

The light changes and we're off.  I consciously tell myself "Drop, drop, drop" as I drop the weight of my body down on each falling pedal, trying to let gravity boost my acceleration and save my knees.  I try to rotate my ankles just so, spreading the point of pressure over the axis of the pedal.  There are as many different ways to pedal as there are variations of people's walks.

Cars pass me, hissing rain under their glossy tires.  I eye every parked car's door suspiciously as I skirt the line between giving the cars that pass enough room and keeping some for myself.  The rain has picked up a little.  A fucking SUV pulls out of the curved intersection in front of me, accelerating faster than average, scurrying out of my way.

Rainfall ramps up smoothly but dramatically in a few minutes.  I pull over to the empty parking spaces along the two-way street.  No decent trees.  I lean my bike against some sign I can't read.  Sliding my bag off, I remove my hat and helmet and pull the now transparent cotton t-shirt over my head.  My shoes are already soaked through.  Unrolling the red rain jacket from my bag and replacing it with the wet shirt I smile ruefully, making for my eyes an overhang of my brow against the rain.  A different SUV pulls into the side street in front of me, stops, reverses, and heads back the way it came.  Jacket donned, I replace my headgear and squish my shoe into the toe-clip.  It's raining so hard it feels like hundreds of heavy fingers drumming on the flat of my shoulders.

No traffic.  Kicking off the sidewalk and onto the pavement, alive and fuzzy with the downpour.  The rain is hurting my face, tiny disintegrating stones that threaten to split my lip.  I bare my teeth in a maniac's grin and the reduced surface area of my lips catch fewer blows.  My mouth tastes like I've lost a tooth.  Warm salt water, pain, and metallics.  I pass a ponchoed figure getting into his Jeep Liberty and he yells "Woo!", grinning and holding his hood as I go by.  Woo indeed.

I grudgingly talk myself into pulling in to a cantina parking lot, crossing the rivered gutter.  My mouth tastes so salty I'm sure something is broken.  Spitting into my palm I see nothing.  Again, nothing.  It hits me:  The collection of salt in my hat is being rinsed out into my face and mouth.  Back on the road I spit to my right for a few blocks before it stops.  I half wish it was blood.  There's no angle that allows me to shield my face and see at the same time.

Ridiculously, "This Is How We Do It" plays over and over in my head as I fight the wind and what must surely be torrential downpour.  There's no voice telling me to pull over, wait it out.  That voice died in infancy a year ago.

I love this.  This is the heart.  I'm a red blur of… I can't name it.  But it's in your face, jeering with a confidence and a finality that you've never known.  Racing down one side and up the other of an underpass at over thirty miles an hour, you wish you were me.  Peering out of your minivan window with envy at my freedom.  I don't even see you.  To me you are a metal cube that may be out to get me, and you blink out of existence as anonymously as you entered it the moment you're out of my personal bubble.

My wheels glide like salmon through puddles so deep the water swamps my feet with every revolution.  I'm laughing.  Part of me is already speaking these lines.  The largest part is effortlessly rotating the sphere of my multi-layered perception in al directions, taking in detail and danger.  Exiting an empty parking lot I lock up my rear wheel with my legs and slide across the matte blacktop, barely even slowing down.

Downtown.  I run a stop sign that's there for no reason.  No one honks.  Moving through traffic and construction the natural grace of my movement overtakes me and I become the smoothest motherfucker you know.  I'm God, I'm Jesus, I'm your misspent youth well spent.  I'm Clive Owen in Sin City.  I'm everything you want to be.  I'm a bright and burning reminder of all the things you've done wrong in your life, looking down from your office window.  Look at me.  Now look at yourself.  At this moment, I am magic.

A tree branch has fallen over my path.  I tilt my head back and to the side like I was peering around cigarette smoke as I speed towards it.  Everyone is huddled under the overhangs of buildings; my way is clear of pedestrians.  I'm panting so hard nerves in my shoulders are being pinched.  After a time I learned to welcome this as a good sign.

Alone save an impatient office worker atop the river ferry I look out at the five tall cranes that service a dry-dock shipyard.  If I were any wetter I'd be twins.  If I were any more calmly content I'd be enlightened.  I'm spent.  The beauty that only comes with this physical exertion overtakes me and I turn to sit on a bench.  Removing my glasses and pressing a hand towel to my face I sob hard four or five times, my torso jumping each time.

Thus finished, I replace my rain-dropped glasses and watch the water roll away beneath me.

Chacha cha cha cha

Don't you know I love you baby?

I survived the weekend, mostly unscathed. Only got rained on once or twice, only almost fell out of my chair once or twice (lack of sleep), only had to sneak my way onto the ferry once or twice.

My training is nearly complete at work. I just wrapped up a ton of classroom time and now I'm fairly confident in my abilities to answer a phone and document it. From what I can gather, I have another week of shadowing or something, and then it's full on worky jerky. I'm only resisting the inevitable a smidgen.

I've grown comfortable enough with the public transit system to have devised my own route. Every day this week my regular bus has had a full bike rack before even getting to my stop. Luckily I can wait thirty minutes and take the next bus and only be a few minutes late, but that won't fly after training is over. So I did a little research and discovered an alternative route through a different tunnel that yields on-timeyness. True, it involves two and a half more miles of cycling in the morning, but the bus was mostly empty and the rack certainly was.

I might have a fun video to upload later today. The front desk is empty, the gym is open, and I have a video camera. Stay tuned.

- David

GOOOAAAAAL!

This guy is awesome, and he has balls. Of both kind! I love the victory run he does. Maybe every time I successfully make the ferry on time or eat shit on my bike I'll do that run.

Today is Friday. My sleep schedule is fuuuucked. I've been so physically sleep-deprived lately that my body is sore. For some reason my brain, which usually gets tired first, is up and active but my body is the one protesting. Yesterday I accidentally took a nap on the couch for an hour and a half. That's bad when you get home around Six, sleep until almost Eight, and have to go to bed at Eleven. I think I fell asleep around One and had to get up at Five-thirty. Ugh.

I got up late but somehow made it to the bus on time showered, dressed, and packed up with My Girl Friday underneath me. Nothing wakes you up like a quick bike sprint twenty minutes after coming awake. It's probably an evolution thing. Anyways, I made it on time but the bus rack was already full. I'm glad the public buses have them, but two muh-fuckin' spots is not enough. And as gas prices rise it's only going to get harder to get a spot. Yesterday there was three people with bikes waiting for the same bus, and I had to do some serious covert hovering to make sure I got my spot.

So I waited for the next bus. If I'd been riding Jenny, I may have left her. Maybe. But My Girl Friday is too purdy and I would cry a little inside if something happened to her. I walked up and down the line of idling buses, asking each driver if they were going into Norfolk. No luck. Thirty minutes later the next bus came, and after sitting across from a girl obviously bound for an office job (that I swear was staring at me) I caught the next bus and settled in for a relaxing ride with Rilo Kiley. "Salute My Shorts" (the song, not the show) made me feel a lot better this morning.

I got stopped again at the gate this morning, and after pulling my bike up onto curb and producing some paperwork I was allowed into the base. The police officer advised I had to keep my helmet on at all times in the base and added amicably, "You're saving gas money... going green." I pulled a sweet one-handed wheelie off the curb and manualed all the way to the stop light. Actually, I battled with getting my pedal flipped over and my foot in the toe-clip. Damn things.

Training is back on, have a good weekend if we don't speak again.

Piece.

- David

Pussin' Out

Macaframa from MACAFRAMA on Vimeo
Seriously. Today I was pitiful on a bicycle. Unlike any of the fine peeps you see in Macaframa videos.

Perhaps my suckiness was due to getting up ass-balls early, or the lack of any water for the entire day. Bad diet? Poor constitution? The heat? It doesn't really matter. In the end, it was just plain horrible.

Hampton Blvd suuucks for bike traffic. But unfortunately I have to take it for a few miles on the way home for work. It's an unsafe road, especially during traffic. And I'm used to traveling along Virginia Beach Blvd! But in the week I've been taking Hampton I've had more angry buzz-bys than in months of my old commute.

So I've opted for a kind of shortcut. I catch the bus for a few miles until I can get on the calmer, gentler Colley Ave and then bike from there. I could argue that I'm being safer, but a small part of me feels like I'm copping out. Whatever. It makes my commute more enjoyable.

Anyways, today I missed the bus by forty seconds. As far as this little piggy can tell they come every thirty minutes. I couldn't decide if I wanted to wait until 5:15-ish (traffic was looking really backed up, which is also why I was late) or just suck it up and bike it. I reluctantly decided just to pedal home, not wanting to get home super late. Also, I was antsy and didn't want to stand around in the heat.

Head wind + three lanes + full traffic + angry commuters = So Not Fun. I can taste the exhaust most days. A few miles in I pulled into a parking lot and decided to just wait for the bus. I was cranky and didn't feel like dealing with people's roadrage bullshit.

While I was waiting and staring disdainfully at the constant stream of traffic, what did I spy coming down the lane but a thick woman on a bicycle. "Motherfuck," I thought. There I was admitting defeat when this lady on a commuter with panniers, biker shorts, and a bright green jersey is sticking it out like a pro. Sigh.

So I manned up and got behind her. I think she was probably a little put off by this kid on a fixed gear following her for about six miles. And not only that! After a few miles I tried to get in front of her to take my turn blocking the wind (in the industry we refer to this as "pulling") but she either didn't want to keep up or misunderstood my intentions.

I get a good distance between us as I (attempt) to sprint up the bridge and then the fabulous traffic on Hampton decided not to let me get into the left lane so I can get into calmer seas. Fack. I take the next right off of Hampton so that I can catch a light or something and navigate a break in the traffic to get to my road. But wait! There's a god damned grass median in the way! Lordy.

After sprinting through a short hole in the line of motor vehicles barreling across my path I hop onto the median and wait for another hole in which to complete my maneuvers. And here comes my friend again! In the correct lane! Hitting the green light perfectly! Smooth as butter. Siiiiigh. Now I'm in behind her again, trying to keep a respectable distance but still use the power of numbers to keep traffic at bay. One cyclist: Angry, disrespectful drivers. Two or more: At least a safe distance.

Finally our paths separated and I yelled a friendly goodbye to try and show her I wasn't a freak. She seemed to understand, at least enough to smile and say goodbye back. Then I navigated my inefficient path through Ghent and finally home. Hot, sweaty, and annoyed. Probably one of the worst commutes I have in memory.

But still, I wouldn't give it up for anything. Tomorrow will be better. Oh yes. Tomorrow will be better.

Rant over.

- David

Car-ectomy

This morning a guy named Loren who works for my dad took off for Idaho in Misti, the truck I've had for about three years.

She's a good truck; I just haven't been able to afford her for some time. She's going off to my dad's farm where she'll probably work harder but get better care. I'm slightly terrible at taking care of vehicles.

It's kind of like I had this pet elephant. Or perhaps a donkey. Yeah, pet donkey is better. She was handy, and a good worker. I'll miss her a little, but I'm not sad she's gone. I just wish it would have happened under different (less damaging) circumstances.

Anywho. Kasey's dad was able to come through in a pinch and get her car all fixed up and street legal for us (thanks Kenny!) so as a couple we possess internal combustion, but as an individual the only transportation I possess comes from chains, gears, thighs and calves. Vroom vroom.

Speaking of trans-poor-tation, I've been taking the bus in the morning to my new job at the naval base. Getting up at 5:30 in the morning? Shitty. The bus ride itself into work? Pretty nice, actually. I listen to music, I sit in a clean, air-conditioned bus and relax for an hour before a short mile or so bike ride into the base and to the building I work in. Then after work I change and bike the 8.5 miles back home so I can still keep my girlish figure. If I can get access to a shower on the base, I'll bike in as well.

For the next three weeks I'm in training from 8:00am to 4:30pm, then I get my real shift. I'm hoping for something good. It's always a worry when your department works 24/7. A night shift can jumble up your whole life, and being on the opposite schedule as 99% of the world is very strange. Although it can be fun. For a while. I think four ten-hour shifts would be pretty sweet. Here's hoping.

Welp, it's gym time. And then shower. And then errands, and then, who knows? Have a good Sunday.

- David

Evo-viewtion

Everyone has their little idiosyncrasies. Kasey counts things repeatedly, in little patterns. Riley sleeps on her back. My brother is very particular about certain textures. One of mine is thinking about human evolution and how it pertains to the current moment. When I'm picking out food, when I'm going to the bathroom, when I'm getting sick, etc. I'm always wondering what my body is doing/thinking from an evolutionary standpoint.

Like for instance, today my body probably thought the following occurred:

I woke up and ingested twigs and berries (whole-wheat toast with jam) and some seriously filthy stream water (coffee). Then apparently there was danger or food, as I furiously fled or chased something for about thirty minutes (the gym).

After that I found some clean stream water and rested a bit before chasing down something big enough to fill two bellies (biking to Ghent for huge burritos). The Fuel Imperative fulfilled, I then set about fulfilling the Reproduction Imperative. Details aside, once completed my body shutdown for digestion and repairs. All in all, from a biological/evolutionary standpoint, a good and complete day.

As soon as I'm done with Spook Country I'll be grabbing the tome you see above, which plays perfectly into my preoccupation. Alliteration! And rhyming.

Tomorrow I'll be driving out my new work route to make sure all is fine and dandy with bridges and traffic and whatnot. 8.3 miles, son. Each way. Gonna be goooood. There's no way to puss out on miles like if I had gotten into the base three miles away.

Peace out, have a good weekend.

- David