The Bikeubator

I used to listen to my iPod when I rode, losing myself in Lyle or Paul or Keb Mo or Bonnie, just as I do running on the treadmill or driving long distances alone, a way to help the time shoot by and think as little as possible about the physical exertion of what I was doing. On the trails around here, 2 songs takes me a mile, so I would make a playlist for my rides knowing about how many songs it would take me to power through. There was the occasional day when I was riding with someone, or hadn't charged up, or would be on roads with cars and trucks and so would forgo the soundtrack. Eventually, I found myself listening less and less to music and more to the inner soundtrack I always have spooling through my brain and I realized that one of the things (just one of the very many things) that I adore about riding my bike is how much it heightens my senses, clears my mind and relaxes me into thought. I watch for wildlife, think about family and friends, postulate about the future, rehash the past and formulate plans of attack or approach for present entanglements. I'm an insufferable idea person as it is and, while I carry out only a teeny percentage of my ideas, that doesn't tamp down my enthusiasm for dreaming up more. Today on my ride I was thinking for the gazillionth time just how cool is the Student Conservation Association, for which two of my kids work, and wishing I was 20 so I could go live in the woods and work on trails and teach kids about the environment. And then it hit me that there might be a place for a Senior Conservation Corps, that provides training and opportunity for older people to plunge into some useful community projects. I don't know that it would be residential like the SCA is. I don't know that there would be funding for stipends like SCA offers. I don't know how it would work, or if there is already something like it. But I thought it was worth considering and maybe worth developing. The other thing I thought about was the loss this week of banjo maestro Earl Scruggs and poet Adrienne Rich. And I thought it might be interesting to put together a Book of Lives: 365 Deaths of People We Should Care About. Every time I do the obits page at work (these days, about once a week), I often think the stories are the best in the paper that day, even if I have to chop or water them down. Like Patience Abbe, the 11-year-old travel writer, who observed on my pages that "In Paris, women with children can always find a seat on a bus, no matter how first the others are." Or words to that effect.

Today's ride: Thursday, March 29. 24 miles of City trails, North Shore to the Strip, 31st Street Bridge to Millvale, Fort Duquesne to Fort Pitt Bridge along South Side to Hot Metal Bridge. Highlight: Lunch with Sandi at Little Bangkok; the stupid loss of an hour (a fourth time!), weeks after Daylight Savings Time, because I apparently didn't change the clock on my bike computer.

There's a spot of construction on the trail on the North Side just before the 31st Street Bridge. The trail is still closed right in front of PNC Park though it looks like that construction must be getting pretty close to complete. Over in the South Side, I was headed back to work when I noticed two guys running toward me, one in an orange shirt and a waddly gait -- sure enough, it was Lou. "I know you," he said in passing. I was surprised he was running because it was after 5 and he still had to ride home in the wind and the approaching dark. He called me at work a couple hours later and informed me he had done a "triathlon" -- he ran, he biked, he ate a turkey pita. I may do a "real" triathlon tomorrow. I could run on the North Shore, ride over to Oliver Bath House for a dip and then ride back. Something to think about. Happy trails.

Look, ma, no hands

I wish someone would explain to me why people can't be bothered to pay attention to anyone outside their own little universe. I can't count on two hands the groups of people who stopped on the trail today smack in the middle, strung across the entire path or rode two and three abreast. And didn't yield until the last minute as I approached, causing me to have to brake, swerve and swear. Sure, I'm more sensitive to it because I'm still a bit wobbly on the new bike and having to constantly slow down or swerve or hug the absolute side for fear of crashing into someone is nerve-wracking. And I can understand the occasional little kid wandering into my path, or plain not being able to control her bike all that well or someone hopping a rut. But common courtesy tells you that you have to share the path with other people. If cars acted like that on roads, we'd sink into anarchy, the government would collapse, your dog would refuse to take you on walks and you would have a grandson with a dog collar. Don't have a grandson with a dog collar. OK, I'm done now.

Today's ride: Sunday, March 18. Pump House to Boston, 24 miles roundtrip. Tires hit the road at 12:18. In Boston at 1:09. Back to my car at 2:25. Highlight: Topping 20mph on a downhill without toppling over.

Thought I'd take The Rocket for a little jaunt down to Boston town and introduce her to Dead Man's Hollow. It's a ride I know well, primarily flat and paved, but has several bridge ramps, a couple of uphill sections, two bridges where I'd have to ride narrow sidewalks, and some short road stretches in McKeesport. In other words, a bit of variety and a chance to gauge how ready I am for the rigors of road rides, sharing busier paths with other bikers, hikers and dog walkers, and tackling some hills. The answer: Not ready for everything, but I'm getting there. My feet still fly off the pedals when I go downhill unless I position the pedals properly, with my left foot down at 6-7 o'clock and my right foot at 12-1 o'clock. I guess because my feet are elevated out in front of me instead of being close in to my body, they act like frenzied extremities with a life of their own. The other thing I'm slowly learning is having enough control and balance that I can scratch my nose without crashing. Seriously, it's like water torture -- when I think about the fact that I can't take either hand off the handlebars for even a split second, then all of a sudden my nose itches, my hair is in my eyes or mouth, the top of my head feels wonky under my helmet. But I was able to scratch my nose three or four times today -- Look ma, no hands!

Do you hear what I hear

We are driving away from the house, headed to the Freeport-Butler Trail. We (meaning Lou) have loaded the bikes on the new rear rack. The Rocket has to ride upside-down, otherwise she fights with the Bachetta."Did you hear that, as we were leaving," Lou asks, making a pitiful whining noise. "From the basement?"

OK, so I know my "old" bike is sad. She got me through winter, through the chill rains and biting winds, out in the mud and muck with the other crazy people who refused to let their two-wheelers hibernate. She spent many a dark night shivering in the parking lot outside work, waiting patiently for me to come out, waiting patiently for spring. And now it is warm and the road beckons, and she doesn't understand why I haven't wheeled her out of the basement in almost a week. Well, there's a new baby in the house, that's all there is to it. I will always love my Fuji. She is tricked out exactly how I want her -- handlebar spots for my coffee, phone and computer; my rear rack with a huge carryall that lets me take along extra clothes, my lunch, my first aid kit, my tools, an extra drink or two, a couple snacks, my lights and pretty much anything else I want to pack. I carried a tree (blue spruce) around town for a couple hours one day. She's the bike that got me to fall in love with biking again. But I want to get acclimated to The Rocket so she will have a place in my life too. And so for awhile, she will be my main ride. It takes all different muscles to ride a short wheelbase recumbent -- I feel it in my abs, my knees, my calves. They are both really comfortable bikes, easy on my shot-to-hell wrists and hands, easy on my neck and back, stretched out with the cranks forward, what they call relaxed geometry. If I had to choose just one, it would not be close -- obviously I would choose my "old" bike. Maybe someday that will change, but for now I am less anxious and more confident riding her. And anyway you don't just abandon your first love.

Today's ride: Saturday March 17, hin and yon on the Freeport-Butler Trail, 40 miles altogether (OK, 39.87). Tires hit the road at 1:33. Got to Butler at 4. Back at the car at 6:30.

Highlight: Ian, 5, who was set up near Mile 17 with drinks and snacks for sale in a cooler. There are no (zero, nada, zilch) facilities of any kind on the trail. No portajohn. No water. No place to stop for an energy bar. Oh, wait. Except for Ian's place. He's an adorable little guy who was looking out for me because Lou had stopped before me and paid for a snack and a drink for me -- a whole dollar. Which bought an ice cold bottle of water and a peanut butter bar that was close enough to vegan for me -- wasn't marked vegan but didn't have any ingredients that jumped out to discredit it. "You know why I'm selling stuff?" he said. No, I didn't. He whispered in his dad's ear. His dad said, Tell her. "To buy toys," Ian said. The kid's going to be able to buy some kick-ass toys by the end of summer. There is just no competition.

The trail itself is gorgeous. Much of the first half runs alongside a creek -- I bet it's Buffalo Creek, judging by the name of the bridge near the trailhead. There are little waterfalls all along the way that I'm sure provide a kind of natural air-conditioning when it's hot out. Much of the trail is shaded but it was never cold, even as the sun was thinking of sinking in early evening. The trail passes a large working farm (Jones Farm) with the requisite No Trespassing signs and others that said Do Not Throw Objects At Turkeys. Which was disappointing because I so wanted to. Not that I saw any turkeys or really any throwable objects. And then there were the large brown and white signs around Mile 18 that said CAUTION, ENTERING RIFLE RANGE. They seemed like pretty ridiculous signs. I mean, what are you supposed to do, duck if you see a speeding bullet? So I figured I'd get a picture on the way back but, no fooling, there was the crack of gunfire just as I reached the signs on my return and I thought better of it. So I guess I did exert caution after all.

As good a place as any

Let's start at the very beginning.

Last year, I got a new bike. Yesterday, I got another.

Both events help explain why I am a different person than I was last year.

I love to be out on the road or on the trail, sun, chill, drizzle or mud. Who doesn't love a sunny day? But life is more than just the sunny days and if you wait around for everything to be perfect all the time, you'll lead a sad little life.

This blog is an attempt to chronicle how riding has broadened my perspective, changed my direction, rekindled my enjoyment of my surroundings.

I plan to write a bit about each ride, which will help me see where I'm going and keep track of where I've been, and any remarkable tidbits in the scenery along the way.

My rides this week:

Saturday, March 10 -- about 15 miles on the Montour

We did a little ride, not much of one, poking around the Montour.

Lou has had a very rough winter without going into details, so this was his first time on the bike in a month, and probably only his second time in about four months. Me, I'd been riding all winter but mostly the trails in and around Downtown, Southside, Northside, or from the Pump House out to Boston and back. I hadn't been on the Montour since late fall.

We started at Clifton, rode the mile down to the end and remembered our first ride together on that trail last July or so. I'd really just started riding, had just bought my Fuji Saratoga from Adam over at Thick Bikes. Lou had been on the trail once before and suggested we ride down the hill to warm up, then ride back up and head the other way. Those were the days when 10 miles sounded like a long ride! and I didn't have a bike computer so relied on trail markers for distance. I remembered being terrified the whole way down that coming back up would be unimaginably hard. I remembered watching people's faces who were riding up and being amazed that they didn't look like they were about to fall over from exhaustion. And then I reached the end, turned around and rode back and barely noticed the uphill, at least on that section.

Anyway, this most recent time we kept hitting gaps in the trail and it was kinda frustrating. The last one, we took the ride-around for through riders and did a couple of respectable climbs. Unfortunately I didn't have my inhaler with me (thought it was in my bag and it wasn't) so I wasn't able to give myself any help along the way. When we got back to the car, I kept coughing up crap for about a half-hour which was pretty worrisome -- it was definitely from the hills. I'll triple check from now on instead of trusting my memory.

Sunday, March 11 -- 43 miles, Pymatuning. Highlight: Saw a bald eagle in flight!

Stayed up later and got up earlier than I wanted to for the 2-hour drive up to Pymatuning. We did a cruise out of the Western Pa. Road Rides book (Lou's goal is to do every ride in the book. My goal is not to die trying). Our tires hit the road at the state park office at 1:33 pm and we got back to the car at 4:45. Or was it 5:45? It was daylight savings day and I kept losing track of time. Anyway we didn't get home till 8, so I guess we got back to the car at 5:45? The ride was nice, mostly flat, not much traffic. We made one wrong turn -- damn those unmarked roads -- but it only cost us a mile or so. I had accidentally left my lunch in the car so all I had with me was an apple and some sports beans but that was plenty. The weather was perfect too -- I was glad to have a light jacket along and wore my long sleeve jersey. More lake views would've been nice, but fortunately it wasn't all gas wells or trucks.

Thursday, March 15 -- 18.18 miles, West Newton to the Buena Vista store, back past the bike shop 2-1/2miles to make my 18. First outing on my new Rans Rocket that Mary built for me the night before. I was really anxious I wouldn't be able to ride it with my feet up in the air, but it has dual 20-inch wheels, not the dual 26's Lou's has, and so I think that's why it really wasn't hard to get started. I tried it out in the street in front of the house first -- coasted down the hill and was immediately able to get both feet up and pedaling. So I felt pretty confident I could start it on the flat and that hasn't been a problem. The steering is twitchy though -- I went over the handlebars at 2.74 miles out because I lost control when I tried to brush a hair out of my face, but it was slo-mo and soft into the grass so I wasn't hurt at all. It will be a while before I am comfortable on the roads though.

Friday March 16 -- 7.5 miles, work out to Woods Run and back.

Took the Rocket for a bit of a spin before work, and I'm getting more comfortable on it. I'm still shy of roads and other people and found myself having to apologize a few times for not steering all that well. Made the mistake of trying to wave to Mya as I was nearly back at the parking lot. Bad idea. A guy at the prison yells at me "Hey, someone put your bike together all wrong." Everyone's a comedian. I said, "Huh, that explains a lot."