Getting Hit by a Car

In a way it's surprising that I haven't been hit by a car before. I mean, there was that time years ago when a car very slightly clipped my wheel out in Falls Church, but that doesn't count. And there was the time back in Brooklyn when I was stopped behind a bus which suddenly decided to back up, causing me to do a superhero-like leap to the sidewalk, pulling my bike behind me. But actual Jesse-to-vehicle contact? Until now I had been lucky.

Last Sunday morning had started off in a lazy way, just reading the paper and puttering around the house. I decided that I wanted to get out and get at least a little exercise so I set out on a random bike ride around Arlington. In randomly riding with no real direction I always discover new areas, and the topography of Arlington begin what it is, I always wind up doing some nice hills.

On this day I hadn't meandered far - only up as far as Marymount, when I decided I had met my minimum movement quotient for the day and started heading back. Again meandering down this street and that, I charted a route that was taking me towards the Custis Trail, figuring that once I intersected with it I'd just take the bike trail the rest of the way home. And I almost made it.

I was whizzing down Frederick Street south of N. 10th St. This block dead-ends at the Custis Trail, so I was very close to being home free. The street also has a bit of a grade (3% according to Strava) so I was moving quickly (at least compared with my usual sloth-like speed) down the hill. I passed St. Ann's church apparently just as some event was letting out. Suddenly, a car pulled out in front of me to make a U-turn to get out of the dead end. Driver didn't look, just pulled out right in front of me. Oh, crap! According to my Strava log I'm doing about 24 MPH at this point, and suddenly there's a very solid looking Honda Accord directly in front of me. I squeeze the brakes as hard as I can. My speed drops quickly, but there's no way I'm going to stop in time. And then ... whap! I do the full Wile E. Coyote splat against the side of the car. The only thing missing was that the driver didn't roll down her window and say, "Meep! Meep!" as I lay flattened against the side of the car.

It felt pretty much like this

After everything came to a stop I took a mental inventory of what was going on. My bike had turned sideways and I was pinned in between the bike and the car, still clipped in. My adrenaline was pumping, but nothing seemed to be seriously hurting. As I started to untangle myself the driver got out, horrified and terribly apologetic and asked if I was OK. I said I wanted to sit down for a minute and dragged my bike over to the curb and sat down. I was a little dazed and the main thing I was thinking at that point was that I didn't want to have a heart attack from the stress of the accident.

After a minute or two I came to my senses enough to begin checking myself and my bike out more thoroughly. Meanwhile, the driver, who I don't want to publicly shame but whose name is Alison King, kept apologizing and offering to help. I noticed that my left hand hurt - it must have impacted the car. My bike seemed OK except that the chain had come off and had wrapped itself in an improbable way around the bike. I had a scrape of blue paint on my bike frame and my rear view mirror had come off the handlebars. I guess I was a little more dazed than I realized because I was stumped at how to get the chain back on. It was actually reckless driver Alison King who stepped in and (getting her hands nice and greasy) put the chain back on.

See the scratch on the fuel door? That's from the accident

My bike now has a Honda blue stripe on it

A couple of other people stopped. As the driver and I were debating whether to call the police, a fellow congregant said, "I'm a lawyer, and let me tell you, it's not worth the hassle of having the cops involved" - though whether she was considering the driver's interests or mine, I don't know. As we were fussing with putting the bike back together someone else - apparently a cyclist, since she mentioned having bike tools in the car - offered to help, but we had it under control by that point. I remember feeling good that the driver was at least suffering a little public humiliation from having all her church friends see her hitting a cyclist. That'll give her something to talk about at next week's confession.

Except for my hand (which seemed bruised but not obviously broken), I was starting to feel better. I took reckless driver Alison King's contact information but refused her offer of a ride home. At that point, as I mentioned up top, I was almost at the entrance to the bike trail, and from there it was an easy ride home. I mounted my bike and rode home very slowly. By the time I got home I had a big lump on my left hand and it was starting to turn color.

My hands shortly after the accident

It's now nine days later and my hand is not yet fully recovered. The swelling and bruising have faded, but it's still a little swollen and there's still a tender spot between the knuckles of my index and middle fingers.

Still swollen and bruised a couple of days after the accident

It seems like every week you hear about a cyclist being hit, and all too many of those accident victims suffer serious, even fatal injuries. While I can't say I'm glad that I was in an accident with a car, I feel fortunate that it wasn't more serious. Had she pulled out a little earlier and hit me (rather than me hitting her) it probably would have been much worse.

Every gig is its own disaster

If I tell you that every gig is its own disaster you may accuse me of plagiarizing the sentiments of Tolstoy, or perhaps of being pessimistic and cynical (but who would ever accuse me of such?). But the truth is, each gig presents its own set of challenges. Each venue has its quirks. Yeah, I really enjoy playing music, but sometimes I wonder why.

Cut to a dingy hallway behind the swanky Carlyle Club in Alexandria, VA. Magnolia Blue has been booked to play at the club. Unusually, the opening act (a duo called Free Floating Musical Experience) booked the gig and brought us in as headliners. That left us at a disadvantage, as FFME had done all the communicating with the venue. All we knew was that there was supposedly a nice green room and we were going to be fed dinner.

Well, the green room turned out to be a tiny space, maybe big enough for two people if it hadn't also been put into service as a storeroom. The dozen of us (between the two bands) weren't going to fit there.

Another thing about having an opening band is that the headliner generally has to set and sound check first, then the opening act sets up in front of you. That's fine, except it means that you have to get there really early. The bottom line is that we had lots and lots of time to kill before we went on, and the only space available to us was the service hallway leading to the kitchen - rat traps and all. It was while sitting on the hallway floor with the rest of the band that I came up with the "every gig is its own disaster" line.

Oh yeah, that promised dinner. At first they said they were going to bring plates of appetizers out to us in our hallway hangout. The Carlyle has a pretty fancy menu: filet mignon, swordfish, lobster bisque, and so we figured the spread was going to be pretty good. Here's what we got: Domino's pizza. In all my years of performing I've never had a restaurant order food in for the band rather than serving out of its own kitchen.

One funny thing is that they brought out real plates, silverware, and cloth napkins for us. So at least we were able to site on the floor and eat our cheap pizza in a classy way. The glamour of show business! Actually, pizza notwithstanding, once we finally got up to play it was a fun set :)

Magnolia Blue at the Carlyle Club

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Around the same time I did a set with Shawn Cody at Mariachi's in Manassas. The summertime weekend evening scene in downtown Old Town Manassas is far more lively than one might expect. There was a band playing at a band shell in a park, and another in a closed off section of Battle Street. We were playing outside at Mariachi's, which pretty much means they shoved a bunch of tables aside to make room for us. In that spot we had little natural audience, since the inside patrons couldn't see us and the remaining outside patrons were around the corner on the other side of the restaurant.

Mariachi's is a very forgiving venue. While other places get on your case if you don't stick to a schedule, at Mariachi's no one seems to care what the band does. Perhaps it's because Shawn has a good relationship with the management (he co-hosts a weekly jam session there), but the management attitude there is always very mellow, which came in handy this time. Shawn's PA was malfunctioning and we spent a heck of a lot of time (unsuccessfully) diagnosing it and then jury-rigging something that would get us through the evening. That, along with a substitute drummer and the unexpected (to me) participation of singer/guitarist Zac Quintana made for a pretty slapdash kind of evening.

And while Mariachi's is hands off about managing the entertainment, they are very much in the money-making business and try and cram in as much as possible. While we were playing outside, the back half of the restaurant was reserved for a quinceanera celebration - complete with a mariachi band. So that's two live bands in one space. Oh, and they had rented out their upstairs room for a different party, which had a DJ. So that was a lot of competing sound in a small space. Every time the mariachi band would take a break and come outside we would gesture for them to come jam with us, but they never did :( Oh, and in addition to all the music and party mayhem there was a table outside the restaurant with people fundraising for some sort of prostate cancer organization. Fortunately they were just handing out information and were not offering actual prostate exams on the spot.

I have written elsewhere (on Facebook) that the highlight of the evening (since I couldn't get a prostate exam) was my realization that we were playing just across the tracks from the very same Manassas train station pictured on the cover of the Steven Stills album of the same name. Back in the 70's when the album came out Manassas, Virginia seemed very, very far away. Certainly not someplace in which a Brooklyn boy would ever set foot. Boy, did I turn out to be wrong.

Since we started late we wound up playing late. Our set finally came to an end when an interesting auto incident diverted the attention of the remaining patrons. Mariachi's sits adjacent to the railroad tracks, and where Battle Street crosses the railroad tracks it's possible to get confused and think the tracks are a street. I say this having gotten a little confused myself the first time I drove it, and if it's 1 AM and perhaps you've had a little to drink, ... I could see someone making that mistake. Well, someone did make that mistake and made a left turn onto the tracks. Where the street crosses the pavement is built up so you can drive smoothly over the tracks, but once you get off the street, driving your car on railroad tracks just doesn't work. They got stuck and had to be extracted by a large wrecker truck, which was apparently much more interesting than the band.

I always enjoy playing with Shawn's group - but this gig was a little high on the chaos list.

Car stuck on the tracks

Apparently our mothers never told us not to play in the street

Mariachis at Mariachis

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Then there have been my recent gigs subbing with the 70's disco band Groovalicious. The first gig I played with them was at a country club in Crofton, MD. Again, under-delivering on the promised food, as well as being a party where it's not clear why they wanted a live band, but the hosts and venue were very nice, and we had the rare non-grumpy sound engineer. It almost goes without saying - since it happens so often - that this was another instance of the keyboard amplification paradox. Everyone assumes guitarists will use their own amplifiers, since the amplifier's coloring is part of the total sound of the guitar. Keyboards, on the other hand, don't rely on the amplifier as part of the sound and so it's perfectly reasonable for the keyboard player to plug directly into the PA system, given that a monitor speaker is provided that allows the keyboardist to hear what he or she is playing. All too often, the sound engineer wants you to do Part 1 (plug into the PA) but fails to do Part 2 (provide a monitor speaker)  That leaves you playing without any ability to hear yourself - or the rest of the band since on all but the smallest stages you relay on monitors to hear the other instruments as well. I will say that in this case, once I asked the sound engineer did provide a monitor, though he was nervous that the extra power draw would increase the chances of the circuits blowing, which kept happening anyway, causing half the PA to go out at various times during the performance.

Sound-checking with Groovalicious

Same thing happened again with Groovalicious at Union Jack's in Annapolis, where we played to a largely empty house on a Friday night. Except in this case, the sound guy was unable to provide me with a monitor speaker (have I mentioned that there were two monitors for the singers, one for the bass player, one for the guitarist, two for the horns and one for the drummer?). As usual, I had brought along my own little amp and so was able to hear myself, and the stage was small enough that I was able to hear the rest of the band through the horn section's monitor.

Hey, guess what happened at Cecilfest with Magnolia Blue last night? Cecilfest is a great weekend-long party, and we played a great set. Except that I couldn't hear the horns or bass player at all because .... (have you guessed where this is going?) ... there was no monitor speaker for the keyboard player. It was a pretty big stage and I was pretty far from any of the monitors, so I only vaguely heard the horn section and the bass player. But I listened to recording this morning and you know what? We sounded pretty good.

Sunset at Cecilfest

Did Cecilfest feature a man in a chicken suit dancing along to the bands? Why yes, it did.

Mid-set selfie, Cecilfest

Turtles all the way down

If you mention the anacostia River to most people in DC, if they've heard of it at all (it's our "other river") they'll think of the grimy, industrial portion near its mouth. Just a few miles upstream, however, it's a totally different river.

I launched at Bladensburg Waterfront Park in PG County, Maryland - an under-rated launch, if you ask me. No launch fee. Real bathrooms and a water fountain, and even a hose to wash the muck off your boat when you're done (the river is better up in Bladensburg, but not quite pristine). I did a double-take as I approached the entrance to the park, because I had never before noticed that the Bladensburg Peace Cross, which was the focus of a recent Supreme Court decision (really recent - like two weeks ago), sits right outside the park's gates.

My choice to launch at Bladensburg was driven by its proximity to Kenilworth Aquatic Gardens. I had heard the lotuses were in bloom and I wanted to see if I could find them from the water. Lotuses are striking, otherworldly flowers - something I I deduce from pictures of them, since I didn't actually find any from the water. I did, however, explore a few interesting side tributaries off the river, some of which I had never even noticed before.

First, I ducked into marshland in the Anacostia River Park (not to be confused with Anacostia Park, which is also along the river, but several miles downriver in DC). I love marshland, and this was really pretty. At water level you'd never know that you were just a few hundred feet from a large concrete plant which sits just outside the park's boundaries. Having failed to find any interesting flowers there, I next explored Beaverdam Creek. This is a dead straight creek which again is peaceful in an urban sort of way, in that it's green and lush and dead quiet, except for every once in a while when an Amtrak train rushes by on the adjacent railroad tracks. About 3/4 of a mile up the creek it turns into a concrete walled canyon as it passes under the Baltimore Washington Parkway. This felt a little creepy to me so I turned around. It appears on the map that you could continue on the creek past the highway, but it wends through scrap yards and other industrial properties - probably not all that pretty a paddle. Still no flowers.

Beaverdam Creek

Finally, I made it into Kenilworth Marsh, which is part of the Gardens. I poked around in several directions but never quite found my way to the area where the lotus flowers are. It's not clear to me that area is reachable by water. But it was more beautiful, marshy paddling nonetheless.

Water plants in Kenilworth Marsh

Finally, I exited the marsh back out to the river. It was my intention to just book the two miles or so back upriver, but the turtles slowed me down. Everywhere I looked, turtles were sunning themselves on logs. I had my nice camera with me (to take pictures of the lotus blossoms, had I found them) and I couldn't resist the opportunity to sneak pictures of the turtles. They're skittish - as soon as they figure out you're approaching them, they plop into the water an disappear. That's what makes photographing them a fun challenge. I try to get up a good head of steam in my kayak while I'm still far away, then stop paddling, grab the camera and shoot pictures while I drift towards them. I find they'll let a drifting kayak approach a little more closely than one being actively paddled. Anyway, I got a few good turtle pictures, but believe me - this is not even half the turtles I saw.

Finally, I made it back to the launch, rinsed the Anacostia goo off of my boat, and headed home.

Turtle

Another turtle

Yet another turtle

This is not a turtle. It's a cormorant. I liked the silhouette.