Skiing with Steve

Steve is one of my oldest friends in Virginia. Valerie and his wife met at the mall where they were both pushing their new babies (who are now adults approaching 30) in their strollers; the two couples have been friends ever since. Steve and I used to do a lot of outdoor activities together, but over time that somehow ceased to happen - I think he may have gotten tired of my general unavailability, as among band, kayaking, etc., my weekends get pretty booked. So, it was a pleasant surprise when he messaged me to see if I would be interested in a day trip to go cross-country skiing.

The DC area is a terrible place to live if you're interested in cross-country skiing. Many winters are devoid of snow (and unlike downhill skiing, XC is too spread out for snow-making), and when there is snow the roads are generally too fouled up to be able to get anywhere to go skiing. The best bet is to look for snow in the Alleghenies/Appalachian mountains in western Maryland and West Virginia.

Steve and I set out to ski at New Germany State Park in western Maryland. I remember the first time he and I went there years ago, we joked that the name of the place sounded like a secret camp where the Fourth Reich was being planned and envisioned showing up to find the ski lodge staffed by young Aryans in crisp SS uniforms, perhaps with squads of brown shirts out grooming the trails. Twenty years ago that was a funny concept to riff on; however, given the recent political history of the U.S. and the number of pro-Trump signs we spotted as we drove through rural western Maryland, we decided maybe it was a little too close to the truth to be very funny anymore. As we exited the highway at Grantsville we saw a house with big "Let's Go Brandon" signs and I swear, someone hung in effigy from a tree - but by the time the shock wore off we were well past it and I forgot to take a second look on the way home. Perhaps it was the home of the Park Superintendent of New Germany.

The park has pretty bare bones support. There's a building with bathrooms and ski rental, but that's about it. No lodge, no food, no nothing - but also, no entrance fee! After making a quick bathroom stop we drove over to the trailhead and suited up. Now I must say, Steve is the least gear-head person of any outdoorsy person I know. Most of us outdoorsy types have basements full of one-of-everything from REI (well, at least one of everything, admits the guy with three kayaks, four bicycles, and four tents). I was dressed in winter weight running pants (my absolute favorite miraculously warm pants for wintertime running, skiing and biking) and similar hi-tech fabric layers on top. Steve, on the other hand was wearing a pair of old cotton khakis and a plaid cotton shirt, an ensemble a little more business casual than one would usually see on a ski trail. In the past I have seen Steve get soaking wet skiing in jeans - apparently he's learned the lesson that cotton isn't a great outer layer for skiing, as he pulled on a pair of rain pants over his khakis. But that was his one sop to special purpose outdoors gear.

Since snow is so elusive in the mid-Atlantic I ski infrequently and so never get any good at it. Once I got my skis on it took me a little bit to find my rhythm. Fortunately, the snow was perfect - no clumping, no sticking, and lots of glide. We are both old men and so opted for the fairly flat Turnpike Trail. We skied to the end of that trail then stopped for lunch, using the wooden barrier which marks the end of the trail as a table. Steve has been to this park a number of times - certainly much more recently than I have - and swore up and down that the trail ended there, even though tracks seems to continue beyond the barrier. After finishing lunch we decided to continue on and explore where the tracks went, though based on Steve's recollections we expected the trail to peter out in short order. Instead, we were treated to the prettiest and most undisturbed scenery of the outing. We skied on, marveling at the beauty of the place as if upon crossing the wooden barrier we had entered Narnia. It was really nice skiing and we started to run out of light before we ran out of trail or desire, and eventually we reluctantly turned around.

Out on the trails

Pretty creek deep in the woods

One of the interesting things about living in Washington D.C. is that many of your social friends are, in their day jobs, world experts on some esoteric subject or another. I've got cycling friends who can speak eloquently and at length on urban development and housing policy, and have a musician friend who could talk to you about the ins and outs of the healthcare system until you turn blue in the face. Steve, until his recent retirement, was a senior official at the Federal Reserve and our light, casual conversation as we skied included the response of central banks around the world to cryptocurrencies such as Bitcoin, and how the Fed's view has evolved from being totally against crypto to actually considering making the dollar itself a Central Bank Digital Currency (which apparently Bahamas has already done, and Sweden and China - among others - are already experimenting with). Also, where inflation is headed and whether Republicans have any grounds for blaming the rise in inflation on Biden's stimulus or infrastructure packages. Y'know, the DC equivalent of light chit-chat about football.

Yes, there was a dial tone!

Last, I will note that my big fear of the day (other than tumbling headlong into a ravine) was whether I could keep my hands warm, which has become a real problem for me in outdoor activities in wintertime. I equipped myself with my electrically heated gloves, into which I also slipped some chemical handwarmers. Between the two my hands stayed pretty toasty the whole day, I'm happy to report. 

All in all, a successful outing. I look forward to doing it again the next time there's good snow - whenever that is. 

Winter Lanterns at The Reach

When I got into cycling in 2015 I started to hang around with cyclists I met through the Freezing Saddles winter cycling competition. Great people, and (in non-Omicron times) I still join them for coffee on a regular basis. The problem is, many of these folks are hardcore cyclists beyond my abilities or interest – people who’ll knock out 100 miles like it’s nothing, and so I rarely ride with them. Even if you’re a fast cyclist, riding 100 miles is an all-day commitment and I just am not interested in spending as much time in the saddle as these folks do. As I’ve said before, my kayaking friends are people I kayak with, whereas my cycling friends are people with whom I drink coffee.

There’s a Meetup called the NoVA Casual Bike Group which caters more to cyclists like me. I went on a couple of their rides years ago. The problem is, the group is quite large and their events usually fill up almost as soon as they’re announced. I got frustrated trying to get into their rides and gave up on them. Also, their season traditionally has been fairly short – they haven’t been winter-time riders. This year, though, they’ve got a winter riding series, and it’s easier to get into their winter rides since I guess it’s only their most hardcore riders who venture out into the cold.

My first 2022 ride with the Casual Bike Group (CBG) was an evening ride from Shirlington Library to The Wharf in DC. I smiled to myself when I felt he ride leader appraising me when I showed up. I’ve led enough groups to know that as the new guy you’re going to get sized up. I could tell the leader was thinking – Did I look like I could handle the ride? Did I have the appropriate equipment? Was I going to be any kind of a headache? I wasn’t offended – I would have done (and have done!) the same.

Before we left the leader went through an excruciatingly detailed pre-trip briefing, and asked how fast we wanted to ride. When the leader asked if 15 MPH would be OK, a couple of folks, me included, said that would be too fast and that we should instead try for 12-13 (believe it or not, a couple of MPH makes a big difference).

The ride itself was pretty uneventful. There were only six of us, so it was easy to keep the group together. When people do group rides they often call out to make sure everyone is aware of hazards such as a car coming from the left (“Car Left!), a runner coming towards us (“Runner Up!), or a bike passing our group (“Bike Back!”). It’s a good practice, but this club takes it to extremes, calling out every puddle and crack in the pavement. Overall, the group vibe was hyper-controlled to a fault. Well, better than being reckless, I suppose.

Part-way through the ride, we stopped to regroup (this club stops to regroup a lot) and the ride leader said to us, “those of you who said you couldn’t do 15 MPH? Well, guess what - that’s how fast we’ve been going!” I was doubly flabbergasted by this statement. First of all, the trip leader asked the group what speed they wanted to ride then deliberately ignored their input and rode faster. Second, I know what  15 MPH feels like and I had my bike computer running on my bike showing my speed and No Way were we sustaining 15 MPH. That might have been our peak speed down a hill or something, but trust me, this was no 15 MPH average ride.

Anyway, we rode to the Wharf and got some pretty decent falafel at Falafel, Inc. We ate outside standing at a hi-top table. As it happens, the person I was right across from a day or two later was diagnosed with COVID. Hoo boy. Fortunately, she didn’t pass her germs to me, but I had a couple of nervous days waiting to see if I was going to develop symptoms.

Remember how I said that the pre-ride briefing on that first ride was unusually detailed and that the leadership style was a little overbearing? It turns out I hadn’t seen nothin’ yet. My second outing with this group was led by the Casual Bike Group’s overall leader, a fellow called Gary.  Gary seems like a good guy overall, and he certainly gives a lot of himself to make the group a success, but he leads rides in a frightfully paternalistic style the way one might expect an elementary school class trip to be lead. Let me apologize here to the leader of the first trip, whose pre-trip briefing I previously described as being excruciatingly detailed. Compared with Gary’s briefing, that first one was a model of concision. Let me give you an example.

We again met at the Shirlington Library, headed for the Four Mile Run Trail. The intersection where you pick up the trail is busy and can indeed be dangerous (a friend of mine was hit by a cement truck while crossing there!). Usually, cyclists take the sidewalk and then cross at a crosswalk right onto the trail, but right now that sidewalk is closed due to construction. Here’s what we needed to be told: “We’re going to ride in the street, “take the lane” on Arlington Mill Rd. into Shirlington Rd., then make a right onto the bike trail.” I just said that sentence out loud, which took about ten seconds. Instead, we got about a five minute discourse on riding at night, how the traffic light only gives you four seconds to cross, but if you push the “Walk” button you instead get twenty seconds, and so on and so on. Further, it was deemed that making the sharp right turn from Shirlington Rd. onto the trail was too difficult and so the group would continue on the street past the trail entrance, turning right instead into a gas station where we’d make a U-turn then ride back on the sidewalk and then make an equally sharp left turn (albeit without the street to off-street transition) onto the trail. Most of the group followed the leader. One of my Freezing Saddles friends was on the ride too and she and I, who are used to navigating Shirlington (and riding like grown-ups), just instinctively made the (supposedly too sharp) right turn onto the trail (which was no problem) and then stopped to wait for the rest of the group to do its little loop-de-loop through the gas station.

Group photo

The ride down the Four Mile Run Trail was uneventful, if shouty (“Bike Up!”, “Walker Up!”, “Wet Pavement!” …). When we stopped for the first time to regroup (have I mentioned this club stops a lot to regroup?) the rider who had been in front of me chastised me for not passing along her yelled out warnings down the chain. This was not a “you’re new here, let me explain our riding protocols to you” kind of talk; no, it was a full finger-pointing admonishment. I assured her that I had indeed been passing her hazard info down the line (I’m always going to go along with group protocol). She said, “Well, I didn’t hear you. I guess I’ll have to shout louder.” I wasn’t sure how her shouting louder was going to help anything, but rather than further engage with her I decided just to stay as far as possible from her for the rest of the ride. Clearly this woman was very safety conscious, but perhaps not too bright. I say this because riding behind her I had noticed that she had a red rear light attached to the seat post of her bike, but she also had a seat bag hanging behind the light, completely obscuring it. The only way you could see her from behind at all was courtesy of some reflective material on her pants. Since the sharing of constructive criticism is clearly the norm in this group I thought I might mention to her that the way she had her rear light set up was obviously stupid … but I thought she might see that assessment as impolite. If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

We had a choice from among three bridges across the Potomac. Roosevelt Bridge would have taken us right into the Kennedy Center with no on-street riding in DC. Memorial Bridge would have given us a simple ride from the Lincoln Memorial to the Kennedy Center. Instead, we took the 14^th Street Bridge, which meant we had to take a slightly complicated route from the bridge to our destination – up and down off of some sidewalks, and following a challenging path along the river. This choice of route meant we had to regroup (again) and stop to listen to another set of very detailed instructions about that last mile or so of the ride.

Awaiting further instruction at the Lincoln Memorial

Upon reaching the Kennedy Center we were told to stop and walk our bikes up the ramp, and also told when to shut off our headlights. Gary explained that bike headlights have three brightness settings and that you should never use “high” unless you have to because it will run out the battery in 45 minutes. Always use “low” and go to “medium” only if you have to. That was an excellent tutorial for riders who had never before used a battery-powered device, and whose lights were just like Gary’s. My headlight has five brightness settings and lasts almost three hours on the brightest setting – but I decided not to raise my hand and point out that not all bike lights are the same. Truth be told, there were some people in the group who were having trouble managing their lights – either they forgot to charge their lights, or they didn’t know how to adjust the levels. One woman forgot to bring a tail light. Maybe I shouldn’t be hard on Gary; it could be he just knows his audience.

Lantern Displays

At The Reach we parked our bikes against a wall, then at Gary’s direction all moved our bikes and re-parked them so they were less spread out. Gary watched the bikes while the rest of us enjoyed the display (he had been there the night before pre-riding the ride and so was OK missing it). The lanterns were pretty as always, and a little different than the previous display.

The ride back was uneventful. The only oddity came when we were riding in the street through West Potomac Park. The guy leading the group at that point was in the right lane, and all of us were following him in that lane. Suddenly a woman somewhere behind me – maybe the sixth person back in the group – repeatedly started shouting “everyone move left!” The leader stayed right; either he didn’t hear her or he was ignoring her. She got more agitated and shouted that clearly we didn’t know right from left and needed to go left, not further right. I believe in following the leader, not some rando in the middle of the group. If some of us has stayed behind the leader while others had followed her we would have wound up spread out across both lanes of traffic, which would have been unsafe as well as obnoxious to any cars trying to use the road. To myself, but in a stage whisper, I said, “I’m following the leader, not someone backseat driving.” The person riding next to me – hey, it was the same woman who had yelled at me earlier! – responded with “wah-wah-wah”, like the sound the adults make in Peanuts cartoons. I’m discovering this group has an odd dynamic.

By the time we got back to Shirlington I was done. I said a quick goodbye to the folks who returned with me (the group had gotten spread out) and headed for my car. OK, this is a pretty kvetchy write-up because in fact I was taken aback by the style of this group. But the reality is I had a good time – much of my riding is solo, and it’s nice to ride with others – and will probably suck it up and ride with them again. With my headlight on “Low”.

 

 

 

 

On the Behavior of (Certain) Cyclists

Regular readers know that, while I ride a bicycle, I generally disdain cyclists - by whom I mean the matchy-matchy Spandex(TM)-clad riders who behave like they own every inch of the rideable world. The crappy behavior of cyclists and the general population's hatred of them has been written about over and over and over again, so there's no point in my beating that dead horse. Instead, here's a little light commentary on a few of the quirky cycling characters I know.

First, let me talk about Dan (not his real name). When I first started hanging around with the local cycling crowd Dan was really friendly and welcoming. He's a great guy and super friendly, so it pains me to say anything less than positive about him. But he's a little weird. For one thing, his friendliness extends a little bit too much to total strangers. As he rides down the trail he'll shout out compliments to people he passes, "Oh! I love the way your jersey matches your bike!" or just give a big hello. For whatever reason, when he shouts Hello he really accentuates the syllables so it comes out as "Heh-lauuuw!", with the second syllable pronounced to rhyme more with "cow" than "crow". I think if I was alone on the trail and some cyclist came up from behind me and out of nowhere shouted "Heh-lauuuw! Your shirt is a really pretty color!" I would be creeped out. But really, he's just being friendly.

Even though I'm no longer commuting anywhere, I sometimes get up early and ride to the early morning bike commuter "coffee clubs" held around Arlington just for a little socializing. Dan attends those coffees too, and I'll sometimes run into him on the trail on the way there. I hate running into Dan on the trail. As already mentioned, he's a very friendly, gregarious guy and when he bumps into you on the trail he'll want to ride next to you and talk. Here's the problem - he's a fast rider and wants to keep up his fast pace on the ride to coffee. I'm a slow rider, particularly at 6:30 AM and so in this scenario Dan is faced with two contrary impulses: to ride with me and chat while also to continue riding faster than I can keep up with. The net result is that by having a conversation with me while incrementally riding faster and faster, he's implicitly pushing me to ride faster than I want to - or even can. He also pays no attention to traffic signals (noe that "Cyclists who go through red lights" is one of the 15 types of hated cyclists in one of the linked articles above) and he gets impatient when I stop at intersections. Over time I've gotten pretty comfortable with saying, "Dan, you just ride ahead and I'll see you there." Sometimes I have to says it two or three times.

Am I done complaining about Dan yet? Not quite. Some mornings I'll be riding on my way to coffee club and suddenly I'll sense a presence behind me. When you ride with other people it's cool to ride close behind another rider, "drafting" them to take advantage of their slipstream. In fact, advanced riders will take turns drafting each other to give whoever is non-lead a break. But sneaking up and drafting behind someone you don't know or who is unaware of your presence is a jerk maneuver ("Stalkers" who do this are another of the 15 listed types of hated cyclists). I don't like that he does this. Sometimes, if I either haven't noticed him or am pretending not to have sensed his presence, he'll shout out, "Is that Jesse I see in front of me?", or something of the sort. Creepy gregariousness is not what I'm in the mood for at 6:30 in the morning. Ever. BTW, if some rider has the audacity to pass Dan on the trail, Dan will chase them down and stalker draft them. I do not approve.

But enough about Dan. Let me move on and complain about George (again, not his real name). George is a guy I actually choose to ride with. He's a good guy too, but first of all, he's another one who assumes he has the right of way all the time (see reference to "Cyclists who go through red lights"above). But bigger than that, he's a loudmouth. For example,. it's generally considered polite to warn people when you're about to pass them on the trail, usually by ringing a bike bell or calling out, "On your left!" George goes well beyond that with something like, "Hey. Three cyclists passing on your left. Thanks for moving over and giving us room." It's not easy to tell whether George's "thanks" are sincere and when they're sarcastic. The way he shouts them they sound sarcastic and I've seen people do something of a double take when he yells a comment at them. 

The other day George and I were riding towards Hains Point. We were riding side by side on a little-trafficked section of road, and truth be told he was riding over the center line and so was a little bit into the oncoming lane. Another cyclist - in full Spandex regalia - was coming in the other direction. The other guy had the whole traffic lane to maneuver in so George wasn't really any threat to him, but George was in fact encroaching onto his side of the road. The other cyclist motioned for George to get back over to our side of the yellow line. George shouted, "Thanks for the reminder!", which again may or may not have been sincere. The Spandex guy took it as sarcasm and responded with, "F*ck you!" I think this was the case of two cyclists both behaving a little badly. In any case, George seems to have no idea his tone and demeanor are provoking these reactions, and I don't know exactly how to coach him politely.

And that's just two of the cycling characters I know. I think the world would be a better place if we all were a little more sensitive to each other's needs and feelings. Clearly, cyclists, even the nice ones I hang out with, have a ways to go in this direction.

Robertson Mountain Hike

 On October 19th, hoping to catch something near peak foliage, I drove out to Shenandoah National Park to do some hiking. Looking at places to hike, I saw Robertson Mountain mentioned as a neglected gem - overshadowed by nearby popular hikes like Old Rag.

You can approach Robertson from the valley (here and here are listings for that hike) but I chose the somewhat easier (though about the same length) hike from Skyline Drive. I parked at the Limberlost parking area (about mile 43 on Skyline Drive) and started out on the Limberlost Trail, which it turns out is one of the accessible trails in the park - it's flat, smooth gravel. It was chilly when I headed out and I started out bundled up in my puffy jacket, wool hat and light gloves. After a little bit, Limberlost intersects with the Old Rag Fire Road, which, being a road, was pretty easy hiking by the standards of Shenandoah. I mean, the trail is wide and flat enough to drive a truck down - something I saw proof of when a forest ranger pickup truck passed by. I'm nervous about a lot of things when I hike, one of which is losing the trail. This is particularly true in autumn, when even the most obvious trail can get obscured by leaves. It's pretty damn impossible to lose sight of a forest road, so I was able to relax about that particular issue on this hike.

Pretty spot on the way up

The fire road intersects with other interesting trails along the way. If I had started earlier in the day or at a time of year when the days are long, I could see extending this hike via a side excursion down the White Oak trail or even bagging both Robertson and Old Rag mountains in one hike. As it was, I continued on my planned route, noticing many of the various trails that intersected the fire road but actually almost missing the Robertson Mountain Trail. There is a trail marker at the intersection of the fire road and the Robertson Mountain trail, but it's sort of off to the side - possible to miss if you're lost in thought while hiking.

The big vistas weren't quite at peak, but individual leaves were beautiful. My new iPhone 13 takes amazing close-up photos!

The trail up to the mountain is unblazed and fairly steep. According to my Strava log, you climb about 500 feet in a little less than a mile (in contrast, hiking up from the valley you climb 1,500 feet in 1.5 miles!). When I got to the top I found the expected rock outcropping at the peak. Here's another thing I worry about while hiking. I don't have a great sense of direction, and it's easy for me, while exploring the rocks at the top of such mountains, to get totally turned around and have no idea where I came in. If there are several trails leading to the peak I can get confused about which one I came in on. Because of this, I took out a red Buff I had in my bag and tied it around a tree right next to the trail I had come in on.

A marker to help me stay unlost

I explored the rock outcropping at the peak, but didn't find any vista. I felt kind of bummed - like maybe this is one of those views that's only good when the trees were bare. It was still a nice hike, but I was a little bit disappointed about climbing a mountain and not getting a view. I explored around the peak area some more; I didn't find any view, but I did find a campsite, where I sat down and had lunch. While I was eating my lunch I spotted a guy coming out of the rock outcropping at the peak. As far as I could tell, there was only one way in and out of the rocks, and I hadn't seen him arrive, nor had I seen him while I was up on the rocks - so he must have been on some part of the rocks I had missed.

After lunch I climbed back up the rocks to try and find where this other hiker had been, and lo and behold - I found an area I had missed before, with a lovely, expansive view of Old Rag and the valley below. The spot was warm and sunny, as well. I unbundled a bit and walked around taking pictures, then sat for a bit just enjoying the view.

View at the top

Bald on Night Mountain (apologies to Mussorgsky)

Shiny!

The hike back was just the reverse of the hike in - except that I stayed on the fire road all the way to the parking lot. On the way out I made a quick stop at the Skyland Lodge. I'm rarely in this section of the park and I wanted to see what the lodge was like (nothing special). I also wanted coffee, but the line was too long. I stopped at a couple of the overlooks on Skyline Drive, then headed home. I did eventually get my coffee, along with a soft pretzel, at a WaWa Market on the way home. Ted and I are big WaWa fans, and we both particularly like their pretzels. Coffee and a pretzel may seem like an odd combo - but not if it's WaWa.

Looking west from a Skyline Drive overlook

BTW, one thing I didn't worry about, but perhaps should have, was bears. When I posted photos from the hike on Facebook, a friend commented that she had been hiking that trail just a week earlier and had had a close encounter with a a bear!

Western Maryland Rail Trail

This was the incredible shrinking trip. I had originally hoped to pull off an overnight bike camping trip. Unfortunately, as the date approached I just couldn't motivate myself to prepare for a camping trip, which is a lot of work no matter how many times you've done it before. So I changed to the idea of doing a day of biking, staying over in a hotel, then a day of hiking. But really, who wants to stay in a hotel in these COVID times, particularly in areas which may not take it seriously? And let's face it, given the political signs around town I'm not at all certain this is an area that gives much weight to pandemic precautions. Also, as the date approached, the weather, while great for biking (cloudy, though warm), wasn't great for leaf peeping - so I decided to put off the hiking portion and just do a cycling day trip.

Yeah, maybe I wouldn't want to stay in a hotel in this town

So here's what it came down to: a roughly 50 mile one day bike ride. I would start in Big Pool, MD and ride out the C&O Canal towpath for about 25 miles to the western terminus of the Western Maryland Rail Trail, which pretty much parallels the C&O, then take the WMRT back. The C&O is a rough gravel path, while the WMRT is paved - I figured I'd do the harder riding first.

Big Pool has a nice parking lot for trail users. Unfortunately the bathrooms were still locked at 8:30 AM. Fortunately, there were bushes. I grabbed the Biffy Bag out of my glove box in case more serious bathroom needs were to arise later. I set out on the WMRT and was able to transfer to the C&O Towpath after less than a mile (turn left at the scary "I Voted for Biden" Halloween display).

This is scary, but not in the way they intended

This part of the C&O Towpath is pretty rutted (other sections have been recently resurfaced and are much smoother). I soon figured out this was going to be slow going - and a bumpy ride on a bike with no suspension and relatively narrow tires (I'm running 35 mm tires). Still the scenery is lovely and the riding wasn't all that bad. The only challenge was the muddy parts, through which the bike would slip and slide. At one point I hit a stick in a muddy area. I started to feel the bike slide out from under me, but I instinctively powered through it somehow. I remember years ago I had the same feeling riding a motorcycle around a corner on wet fallen leaves. I could feel the bike start to slide out sideways. For whatever reason I instinctively hit the throttle, which turned out to have been the right thing to have done. The power pushed me through the turn and the bike recovered. When I came to a stop at a traffic light the driver who stopped next to me said he saw me slide and was sure I was going to go down. But I didn't then and I didn't now.

C&O Scenery

The ride was pretty uneventful for a while. I rode along, taking in the scenery, looking at the river, checking out the hiker/biker campsites as I went by (only one was occupied). Then at one point I suddenly got that sinking feeling that the bike wasn't riding right. I looked down, and sure enough, my rear tire was going flat. Fortunately, I had brought along two extra tubes, tools and my brand new air pump. Unfortunately, my new pump didn't fare that well. The pump has two settings - one to pump higher volumes of air, but at lower pressure, and another to pump at higher pressure, but lower volume. The idea is that you fill the tire using the high volume setting, then finish it up pumping it to full pressure with the high pressure setting. Unfortunately, the mode switch jammed and so I was stuck on the high pressure setting. I got the tire pumped up well enough, and in fact let a little air out of the front tire to give myself a cushier ride. As I resumed riding I noticed how much smoother the ride was with the tires a little soft - I should have done this at the beginning of the ride. I guessed that the rear tire was probably still below the recommended minimum pressure of 55 PSI, but it was close enough. I rode on, a little concerned that I had already had a flat and still had a lot of miles to go.

Changing a tire on the C&O trail

About five miles later I started to hear a weird squeaking sound form the rear of the bike. I had put one pannier on the bike to hold my layers of clothing, food, camera, etc. When I looked back I found it swinging back and forth - barely fastened to the bike. My panniers are old and aren't quite a fit for my current rear rack (which is also an antique). The bags hook onto the top of the rack with two hooks, and then there's a third hook at the bottom. Well, the bottom hook had bent out of shape so it was more of an L shape than a hook shape. It had slipped off the rack, which allowed the bag to start bouncing around, which had then allowed one of the top hooks to come undone. The squeaking I had heard was the bag swinging back and forth on the one remaining hook. Once again, I stopped. I pulled out my multi-tool, bent the bottom hook back into shape, and reattached the back. I rode on.

At the ruins of the kilns at the Round Top Cement Mill

The C&O is a fun ride in part because of the remnants of its past - the various canal locks and other infrastructure. My favorite spot on this ride was the ruins of the Round Top Cement Works, a business dating to the 1830's. Apparently it thrived for many years - the cement used in building the Washington Monument comes form here. The business ran into problems thanks to several major fires (it appears that for a business that operated eight large kilns, their fire safety practices may have been a little lacking). In any case, around the turn of the 20th century there was a third major fire, plus the world was shifting away from limestone-based cement and towards using the exciting new product of Portland Cement. Round Top went out of business, but the kilns remain. 

The rest of the ride was free from mechanical problems. As I got towards my destination it was a little hard to tell where the connection points between the trails were. I didn't want to miss the final connection and blithely keep pedaling west, so I switched trails at C&O Lock 56. When I got on the WMRT I realized I wasn't at the end - it turns out I jumped the gun - the western terminus of the WMRT wasn't for another two miles of so. But that was OK. 

By this point it was lunchtime. About a mile into my ride back I came across a parking lot which had a picnic table. I stopped there for lunch, the main part of which was leftovers of last night's leftovers of the previous night's Indian food - doctored up with vegetables and cashews. Yum! While I was eating a woman on a recumbent trike rode in to take a break and use the Porta-Pot. She and I chatted for a minute. Her trike was all rigged out with a cargo rack and had a couple of water bottle holders, whereas it's hard to carry anything on Valerie's trike. Her setup gave me ideas on how to rig up Valerie's trike to increase its cargo capacity.

Now that I was back on pavement I figured I could pump the tires up a bit. My pump was still half stuck, but fortunately I had a Plan B - CO₂ cylinders. As a alternative to a pump, people carry compressed CO₂ cylinders and a little adapter head to connect the cylinder to the tire valve. I had one of these - in fact, I realized I had two cylinders with me, which made we more willing to use one up. I usd the CO₂ to fill both tires - though when I got home, I realized they were both still low. Heavens knows what pressure I had been riding at on the C&O. One thing about using gas cartridges - if you remember learning the ideal gas law in physics, you'll know that the gas gets cold as it is released from high pressure. By the time I finished putting air in the tires the valves were covered in a thin layer of ice! I packed up and rode on.

I guess riding the C&O had taken a toll on me. As I rode back both my tush and hands started to hurt. I found myself shifting both sitting position and hand position almost constantly. Things were starting to hurt. When I reached the town of Hancock I decided to make a stop. This allowed my body to get a break, and I bought and consumed my secret ride weapon - a cup of caffeinated coffee, purchased from The Fractured Banana ice cream shop. I don't drink caffeine on a regular basis, so when I do it really is like a video game "power-up". I did, I must say, resist the enticement of the ice cream. I drank my coffee and rode on.

Coffee outside The Fractured Banana

A few more miles of riding, and I was back at the car. Total mileage was about 47 miles (I figured on 50 for the day, but came up a few short because I jumped the gun and turned around at Lock 56 rather than the western WMRT terminus). Good ride, comfortable weather, and exploring a new trail.

 

A Magical Day on Belmont Bay

Belmont Bay has been one of my favorite places to paddle since way back at the beginning of my kayaking explorations. The setting is beautiful, the bird life is outstanding, and it's a no muss, no fuss launch - you can pull right up to the launch beach to unload. The launch is car-top only, so you're not dodging power boats Frogger style. 

The launch at Mason Neck State Park

In the days before blogs I kept notes on my paddling in a written journal and my first entry for paddling at Mason Neck was from my second visit there, on 7/25/1999. The entry mentioned, which I had forgotten, that Mason Neck was the first place I launched my very first kayak. It's a special place for me. I think it's a special place for a lot of people.

My choice of Mason Neck for this particular outing was to do maintenance on a geocache I had placed on little Conrad Island, across the bay near the powerboat channel. I'm not really doing much with geocaching anymore, and this is the last active geocache I maintain, but it's one of the few "hydro" caches - ones which can be reached only by boat in the area. People like it, so I like to keep it active. The water was glassy as I paddled across to the island, which as usual, was a mess of bird refuse - half-eaten fish, guano and feathers - as well as poison ivy. As I paddled across I spotted two bald eagles, one in mature plumage, and one still in immature brown plumage, perched on a branch sticking out of the water. You rarely see eagles down at the water line, so this was kind of special. The immature eagle flew off, but i got a picture of the mature one. Once at the island, I replaced the log (paper people are supposed to sign to prove that they've found the cache) then headed out towards the river.

Eagle by the water near Conrad Island

Mason Neck is always a good place to see eagles. It's rare that you visit there without seeing one, but some days are just ridiculous. As I paddled along I saw eagle after eagle after eagle, so many so that eventually I stopped counting. Eagles are rock stars within the bird world, but I shouldn't ignore their fellow Aves. As I made my way I also saw great blue herons, cormorants, ducks, geese, ospreys, and all those tiny wading birds that I can't identify. 

As I paddled along the western side of the Mason Neck peninsula I spotted another eagle at ground level, standing along the shoreline, fishing, I guess. As I turned to get a better look I inadvertently flushed two more eaglesI hadn't noticed, which took off from the bushes and flew away. The first eagle, though, remained on the beach. He seemed to be holding one wing down a little bit, but to tell you the truth I have no idea whether that was normal eagle posture or whether it indicated an injury. In any case, he didn't fly away. In fact, he stayed put and allowed me to approach. I got as close as I felt like getting, eventually stoppinga bit offshore because I didn't want to cross the line into harassing the wildlife. The eagle hopped from the beach to a branch, but generally stayed put. It stared at me. I stared at it. I snapped a million pictures. It felt like some sort of animistic spiritual experience, like maybe this eagle was a sign that the new year (the Jewish new year starts next week) was going to be a good one. Realistically, the thing's thoughts were probably along the lines of, "Big Creature approaching! Danger? Worth giving up food to get to safety?", but it felt like more. Eagles are really big, by the way and have powerful looking claws and beaks. If this thing had decided to defend itself and attack me I could have wound up in bad shape - all the more reason to "social distance" from it a bit. Eventually, mesmerized though I was by this majestic bird, I decided to back away and leave it in peace. I continued on my way and was still saying, "Wow! Wow! Wow!" to myself in my head over my eagle encounter when I stumbled across a field of lotus plants in full bloom. Yes, apparently there are lotus plants growing wild at Mason Neck and I was happily surprised to spot a bunch of gorgeous yellow flowers poking out of the water. I stopped again, this time to ogle the flowers. I've seen lotus blossoms at Kenilworth Gardens in DC, but it's different to be out on the water with them. Again, beautiful.  And of course, there were more eagles along the way - two in a tree here, one in a tree there. And herons. I half expected to round the point and find a leprechaun sunning himself on the beach,

Approaching the eagle

I really was this close

Into the lotus blossoms

Lotus blossoms

I had already been out on the water longer than I had planned and so once I got to the mouth of the bay I turned around and headed back. I didn't see my eagle friend on the way back - either he had flown off or I just missed him.

Two more eagles - most days, this would be the "money shot"

And another

And a fine looking heron

Once I got back I was walking up the hill to where I had parked my car when I noticed an odd fruit smooshed on the ground. Omigod! Paw paws! For years I've been hearing about paw paws, which grow wild in the mid-Atlantic. Paw paws have a storied history - native Americans enjoyed them, Lewis and Clark ate them on their journey, there are towns named "Paw Paw" in several states (mid-Atlantic cyclists will be familiar with the Paw Paw Tunnel on the C&O Canal tow path, located near the town of Paw Paw, WV), and there's even a kid's song about them. Paw paws supposedly taste tropical - sort of like banana, sort of like mango, with a custard-like texture. I've heard so much about these amazing wild fruits and every year I swear to try and find some - and every year I forget to do so. This year I had recently seen a post online about how paw paws are coming ripe, and as usual had promptly forgotten about it. But here they were - staring me right in the face. Actually, they were a little above my head out of my reach (where's Tall Tom when you need him?) so as I drove out I stopped the car under the paw paw tree and was able to reach some by standing on the door sill. So on top of an amazing eagle encounter and the beauty of wild lotus blossoms, I can now cross off the bucket list item of finding wild paw paws. As I write this, I realize that said paw paws are still sitting in my paddling bag, as of yet untasted. As soon as I wrap up this entry, I'm off to the kitchen to taste my paw paws! 

Back at the launch there were butterflies all about

 

California - Part 3

7/12/21

Our last full day on the west coast! I guess we were running out of things to do, a little bit. In the morning, Valerie stayed back at Ted's apartment while he and I walked the nature trail around the outside of the Facebook campus, which is very close to Ted's place. Facebook occupies what used to be Sun Microsystems' headquarters, and we discovered (while searching for a geocache, of course) that the back side of the Facebook sign at the entrance to the complex still says Sun Microsystems. That's no accident. Sun was at one time a premiere computer brand, but they tanked in the dot-com crash of the early 2000's as dot-com companies went bankrupt and dumped their used Sun computers on the market at low prices. The company never recovered and in 2009 was swallowed up by Oracle. Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerburg intentionally left the Sun sign there as a reminder to his employees never to be complacent, even when it seems you're on top. On our walk we also noticed that while the campus is fenced in, there are gaps in the fence and gates which are unlocked - I hope that Facebook does a better job of data security than they do of physical security (kidding - I'm pretty sure they don't!).

At Facebook

A relic of the Sun era around back of the Facebook sign

After our walk we picked Valerie up and returned to the Stanford Mall, as Valerie wanted to buy more bars of a honeysuckle soap she had found there. Stanford Mall is where the high end shops are - the Hermes, the Cartier, etc. But still, nothing which couldn't be found at the Tysons Galleria or thereabouts. I figured that in an area with so many super-rich tech people the local mall would hold yet another level of even more expensive stores, selling things like the $300 t-shirts favored by the aforementioned Mark Zuckerburg. I guess those stores are hidden away elsewhere, and if you have the money to wear $300 t-shirts, it doesn't matter if the stores are conveniently located at the mall as you probably have staff to go out and buy them for you.

Stanford Mall

The three of us walked around separately - the mall is outdoors and makes for a nice stroll - then met for lunch. We were browsing the menu at a salad place when one of the employees fairly rudely shooed us away. Apparently, in looking at the menu the restaurant had placed at the entrance we were blocking other customers. The employee said there were other menus we could look at inside, but in fact the next place to see a menu was at the counter where you ordered, and by trying to take time to look at the menu once we were at the front of the line we were once again deemed guilty of holding up the line (BTW, the place was half empty and there was no line - just one other party behind us waiting to order). I started to vent a little at the staff member who was making us feel pretty unwelcome there. All she had would have had to have done at that point to calm things down would have been to say something like, "I'm sorry - please take your time." But she didn't, but fortunately for her my family, which is more used to my playing the conciliatory role when other family members are upset about poor service, shushed me, thereby sparing her from my very mild wrath. We ordered and had our salads (which were just OK). After lunch Ted and Valerie went out to pick fruit on the Stanford campus (there are orange, lemon and citron trees there!) while I stayed home and read my book and by the time we got back together everyone was once again in good spirits.

We were by then tired of restaurant meals and so whipped up dinner from Ted's fridge - pasta with asparagus, and veggie "chicken". Then we packed our bags.

7/13/21

All I can say about this day is that we got up early, Ted drove us to the airport, and we flew home (my first flight on a 787 Dreamliner!). The flight was initially expected to get in early, but due to the need to circumvent a wall of storms (we flew all the way down over Alabama to get around the storms) the flight wound up arriving about a half hour late - but the routing was good - nary a bump along the way! I'll also mention one other thing about flying these days: right now, COVID protocols require that all passengers wear masks at all times, except when they're eating. People complied quite well on our flights - but then came beverage service, that part of the flight where everyone takes their masks off at once to have their drinks and eat their little snacks. So FAA rules make sure you're safe throughout the flight except for the twenty minutes when everyone is breathing on each other while eating. Hmmm. Time for on-board beverages to be served in mask-friendly Fauci-pouchies? And pretzels to be replaced by similarly packaged smoothies?

I'll make one other parting observation. Where we live is not quite walkable, but most of our daily trips are 5-10 minutes away on local streets (or are doable by bicycle) - the supermarket, Target, Home Depot, doctor visits, and so on. Silicon Valley is definitely much more spread out. Ted's location is pretty centrally located, but just about everything requires hopping on the highway for an exit or two. In place of our 5-10 minute trips, his are 15-25, which makes a difference. Particularly when gas costs a dollar more than it does in Virginia. Whenever Valerie and I travel these days we evaluate the place as a possible retirement destination. Silicon Valley passes many tests - good healthcare (go Stanford Healthcare!), lots of restaurants, great weather, diversity - but carries serious negatives of total car dependence and insane cost of living, with houses costing roughly double what they would in already expensive Arlington. Hmmm.