Scooter Skirt Cyclist

Charlie Strunk - Fairfax's Bike Guy

2009-12-02T09:39:00.047-05:00

Charlie Strunk is doing everything he can to get Fairfax County residents on their bikes. Painting bike lanes, installing bike racks, printing bike maps - and more - just to make cycling an appealing alternative to driving. I call him the bike guy, but technically, for the last three years of his 24 years with the county, Charlie Strunk has been the Bicycle Program Coordinator. In other words, if you're leisurely cruising on a wide bike path or securing your Trek to a bike rack in Northern Virginia's most populace jurisdiction, he's the one to thank.

I met Charlie in his Government Center office a couple of weeks ago. What I first noticed about him was his expression, which toggled between a smile and a laugh. He talked easily and candidly, and he was a good listener (a plus for a chatterbox like me). What set his office apart from other work spaces were the two bike racks resting against a wall. One, called an inverted "U" rack, looked like a bent piece of black tubing, and the other one was green and was supposed to resemble flowers, but it looked like lollipops to me.

Charlie is serious about biking. To set the county's cycling priorities, he works not only with his colleagues but also with members of FABB, Fairfax's bicycle advocacy group. That's Charlie, on the right, at a FABB meeting. (Thanks to Bikes@Vienna blog for this photo.)

He said that FABB's priorities pretty much match the county's, and currently, installing bike racks and bike lockers at transit stations is at or near the top of everyone's list. That makes sense. Fairfax County, like all of Northern Virginia, has a vicious traffic problem and getting people on bikes may pull some cars off the road. A December 2008 article in Forbes claims that the greater DC metropolitan region is the worst part of the country for small-city commutes, and I've heard repeatedly that only Los Angeles commuters spend more time in their cars than their DC counterparts. That's a lot of cars and a lot of opportunity for cyclists to be injured and bikes to be damaged or stolen. The double risk of theft and flesh wounds is enough to send would-be bike commuters back to the gas pumps.

To protect bikes, Fairfax County has installed bike racks at VRE parking garages, park-and-ride lots, and other transit stations. 150 more sites are due to receive racks. Two park-and-ride lots (in Reston and in Herndon) have bike lockers, and 50 more lockers are on their way.

A bike locker is like a small square self-storage space; the bikes are completely contained in the lockers so there's no exposure to the natural elements (inclement weather) or the bad elements (thieves and vandals). The annual rental fee for one locker is $60/year. Fairfax County has also equipped its Connector buses with front-mounted bike racks that carry two bikes. Charlie said that some racks will be replaced with ones that can carry three.

To ensure safety on the roads, Fairfax County works with the Virginia Department of Transportation (VDOT) to identify streets that can accommodate bike lanes. They also collaborate on painting the necessary stripes and symbols and providing signage. I am a poor judge of anything quantitative (prices, weight, age, distance, altitude, carbon-dating), but it makes me feel cool to know this and I'll share it with you: a normal travel lane is 12 feet wide with a 2-foot gutter pan - I'm trying to picture it as I type. A bike lane eats up about 2 feet of width on each side of the road. So, when identifying potential bike lane routes, Charlie starts with the easy roads - those that are wide and smooth. Currently, 40 segments are under consideration.

Charlie's budget is about $500,000/year. It seemed to me a paltry sum, given the entire county budget, but I guess in these lean times, I should be grateful that Fairfax has set aside any money at all for bike-related projects.

If you want more information about Fairfax County's bike program, click here. And the next time you ride on a well-marked ample bike lane, chances are, it's Charlie's.

Richmond to Host Bike Show

2009-12-01T06:29:00.025-05:00

Richmond had to overcome some pretty stiff competition to be named host of the Sixth Annual North American Handmade Bicycle Show. The Virginia capital, the show's first east coast venue, beat out San Diego and Austin (Hi Lance), and quieted a northeast contingent that was pulling for Philly, New York, or Boston. From February 26-28, 2010, the highest quality bike frames, supplies, components, and accessories will be on display at the Richmond Convention Center, located at 403 North 3rd Street and online at http://www.richmondcenter.com.

So far, nearly 60 frame builders have signed up to showcase their hand-crafted frames. I could drop a few names here, but I'm too new to cycling to know which ones to drop. I recommend that you can visit the bicycle show's website which is loaded with information, is easy to navigate, and most importantly, is aesthetically pleasing. The website will also sell tickets as the show nears.

What little I know of frame builders reminds me of sculptors, jewelers, or glass blowers - people who are skilled, dexterous, and who appreciate form and proportion. To get an idea of the level of artistry behind custom-made bicycle frames (and as an enticement to go the bike show), watch this trailer from the film Anima D'Acciaio (Soul of Steel). You can view the entire film at the 2009 Bike Film Fest which visits Washington, D.C. later this week.

Anima D'Acciaio Trailer Ver5.1 from Cinecycle on Vimeo.

Re-Cycle

2009-11-30T19:50:00.025-05:00

This is the time of year when the generosity of ordinary people is in the spotlight. The requests of food pantries and homeless shelters replace the news about the Redskins offensive line and take their rightful place on page one, above the fold. Most charities, however, operate not just during the holiday season but all year long.

The "Local Living" section in the Thanksgiving edition of The Washington Post ran a story about a quiet charity that I had never heard of. It's a Fairfax county bike shop that refurbishes donated bikes and then gives them to children who cannot afford to buy their own.

Here's the twist: The bike mechanics are students from Herndon Middle School. The repair shop is a trailer behind their school.

The lucky recipients are kids whose families participate in the Neighborhood Resource Center, a joint effort of the town of Herndon and Fairfax County that offers comprehensive services to Herndon neighborhoods that need assistance.

The middle schoolers stay after school one day each week to learn bike repair and how to transform a discarded pair of wheels into something to be coveted. By the end of the year, they can even earn a bike of their own. Some who already have bikes donate their earned bikes to the Resource Center. Others who are without wheels keep the earned bikes for themselves. The kids from the Resource Center get free bikes. Everyone wins. Bikes that are not salvageable are disassembled and used for parts. According to the Post, the shop's goal is to restore 40 bikes this year. Currently, the junior mechanics are working to deliver 10 bikes to the Resource Center before Christmas.

If you get a shiny new bike this holiday season, please don't throw your old one away, even if it's a clunker. Give it a second life. Take it to the main office at Herndon Middle School, 901 Locust Street, in Herndon, Virginia, from 7:30 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. on weekdays. There are some eager middle schoolers there, equipped with wrenches, rags, and technical expertise. They have big plans for your bike. It's called re-cycling. Herndon is accessible from the Capitol Beltway (Route 495), the Dulles Toll Road (Route 267), and Leesburg Pike (Route 7).

Physics, My Fickle Friend

2009-11-17T12:40:00.059-05:00

Attention conspiracy theorists: Do you know what shape-shifting, cunning force has the power to make or break the human race? Starbucks? No. Wal-Mart? Could be. Karl Rove, the round-faced face of the Bush #2 admininstration? Well, maybe. But even automatons are only as intelligent as the people who program them.

I'm referring to the science of physics, that fair-weathered friend that either keeps you upright or shoves your face in the dirt. Physics shows her generosity. Within her, there is some magical, merciful law that lets completely uncoordinated people do the improbable: balance on two wheels. People like me who can not throw a baseball, or water ski, or turn a cartwheel, or catch a Frisbee can manage to balance on a bike. And we never forget how, because riding a bike really is like riding a bike. And we don't feel insecure because the ability to balance - at least to some degree - is what we have in common with the cycling greats. Sure, some BMX cyclists flip and fly. And Tour de France riders can reach speeds of 60 mph as they descend the Pyrenees. But at reasonable speeds and under normal conditions, we can remain upright too, and maybe, if we're feeling daring, ring our bike bell as we pedal to Target.

I cling to my ability to ride my bike. Cycling is easy on the knees. It lets me cover long distances fairly quickly and run errands at the same time. Because my own weight far exceeds that of a small load of groceries, loading up my panniers doesn't tip me over. Yet, there are times when I'd rather load up my minivan, or just stay home and balance on a stationary object that doesn't require a kickstand - a chair, for example. But I'm under pressure to keep up with younger, fitter people and there's no other athletic endeavor, besides biking, that doesn't leave my 48-year old, "AARP-here-I-come" self in the dust.

I've tried tennis, but haven't progressed much in the last 20 years. If someone ever invented a game called "Forehand," I'd be a star. In that game, hitting to your opponent's backhand side or requiring him to serve would result in an immediate forfeit. (I don't envision that catching on.)

Almost 10 years ago, I tried sailing. Sailing is all about positioning the boat so the wind hits the mainsail at the proper angle (depending on if you're going upwind or downwind). All of this calculating wasn't fun for me; in fact, it was way too much work. I capsized the boat. I have no one to blame because I was going solo. But, if I had to blame someone, it would be my brother, who was paddling alongside me in a kayak and barking orders in a strange language. If you don't know the parts of a sailboat or the vocabulary of sailing, the commands are meaningless. "Put the snorfler at a 45-degree angle to the nuttle!"

"What?" The wind was whipping my hair into my face. My eyes stung from the salt. The water swelled like a pregnant beast and my hand, raw-skinned and stinging, clung to a thread of a rope. (Not really. I was on a calm lake in Vermont. It was sunny.)

My brother was exasperated. "I said angle the snorfler against the nuttle so the fibster doesn't seize up on the leeward side."

Did I mention I was in a Sunfish? Sunfish are as light as bathtub toys. They hardly displace any water and are what old New England salts call "wicked tippy." The slightest wake or innocent school of minnows throws them off-course. In the end, as I was speeding - literally - toward the shore, some piece of wood came about, which is a nautical term for swinging wildly and hitting you in the back of the head with enough force to send you into the water and overturn the boat. My mother says I went down with my ship with a smile on my face. When I emerged, the sunbathers who had gathered on the lake's modest beach clapped for me. One man asked if I'd be trying to sail again because he'd like to watch. I laughed. In private, I cried. I cursed the wind vectors and angles and torque that tossed me over the side of a boat.

I turned my failure into a "teachable moment" for my children, who were quite young then, because all mothers of young children are bound by some tacit law that requires them to treat every failure as a teachable moment waiting to be unmasked. We talked about the importance of life vests and how you can fall out of a boat and not die.

I can not fight physics. I must be grateful for the scraps she gives me. If she lets me stay upright on two wheels on land, but nearly drowns me at sea, then so be it. Physics has taught me that my bike is my ally. It has self-stability, which explains why, if you push a rider-less bike, it will roll for several seconds before falling. Bicycle-balancing theories abound and they're complicated. They're riddled with words like gyroscopic action, steering-geometry, and angular momentum. But don't be intimidated. I threw all the words in a pot and boiled them down for you: Me pedal, me go. Me stop, me fall.

News Cycle 2

2009-11-15T14:29:00.043-05:00

The bike news I've shared in some of my recent posts has either been comical (the Fendi bike) or disappointing (the sorry state of Velib, Paris' bike-sharing program). So it is with a big virtual smile on my face that today I bring you glad tidings about local events (and one that's not-so-local) that involve bicycles.

Bikes for the Poor
In early October, my church, St. Mary of Sorrows in Fairfax, Virginia, hosted a Bikes for the World bicycle collection. 33 volunteers gathered in the church parking lot on a cool autumn morning and collected 57 bikes and one tricycle. In addition, donations totaling $1,045 were designated to cover the cost of shipping the bikes to developing nations. The church bulletin stated that the "generosity will have a positive impact on the lives of many poor people, both near and far away." We donated one girl's bike and one boy's bike. Now my family of four is down to six bikes (from our high of eight) and yet we still have no garage.

Vienna Bike Shop Wins Award
Not too far down the road in Vienna, Virginia, there was more good news. The Adventure Cycling Association awarded its 2009 Sam Braxton Bicycle Shop Award to Bikes@Vienna. The ACA recognized, among other things, Bikes@Vienna's commitment to serving riders of all abilities, including those with physical disabilities, and applauded the shop's community involvement. It praised owner John Brunow for creating "positive change in his community" as an "engaged local leader."

I've visited Bikes@Vienna twice: once to snoop around and again to rent a crank forward bike which I rode on the W&OD Trail. John Brunow was a great help both times. His receiving this award confirms my initial impression of him - that he's well-respected, civic-minded, and an all-around good guy. If you need a bike, want to rent a bike, or you're looking for some honest two-wheeled advice, give him a call.

New Bike Lanes in DC
On November 14, The Washington Post reported that the District of Columbia has opened a new bike lane on a stretch of 15th Street that runs from U Street to Massachusetts Avenue. That section of 15th Street is one-way northbound. The bike lane, called a contra-flow lane, is only for southbound bike traffic, and so-called because cyclists are riding against traffic. (Northbound cyclists have to share the lanes with cars.)

Photo courtesy of Gerald Martineau of The Washington Post

The bike lane, pictured above, is different from most others in two important ways. First, it is closer to the sidewalk than the parking spaces. The cars in the photo are parked and form a wall between cyclists and traffic. Second, the flexible yellow posts were installed to separate the bike lane from the parking lane and protect bike commuters from getting "doored" by people exiting their cars.

Photo courtesy of http://dcist.com

Some disgruntled cyclists wrote to Dr. Gridlock, the Post's traffic guru, and complained about the hazards of the bike lane. What the District really needs, though, is not a traffic flow expert, but a bike lane proofreader. Remember this photo the next time you "trun" left.

Best Buys to Start Selling Electric Bikes
Best Buy, the uber-giant electronics retailer, has begun selling electric bikes and scooters at several of its west coast stores. Just think: you can purchase a Samsung French door 25.5 cubic foot refrigerator with thru-the-door ice and water for $1,600 and, for another $500 or so, you can get an electric bike, strap the fridge on your back, and zip on home. Save on delivery costs and get a low-cost environmentally friendly vehicle to go with it. I called my local Best Buys (in DC's Viriginia suburbs) and no store has any electric bikes in stock, nor does any store expect to receive them in the near future. Still, it's nice to hear about a Big Box store embracing a Little Box idea.

Green Day

2009-11-09T13:25:00.045-05:00

No, I don't mean these guys. When it comes to applying eyeliner, I'm no Billie Joe Armstrong. I'm referring to my own modest green day. No, I did not save the planet. I didn't sell my vehicle or give up meat or install solar panels in my roof. I didn't purchase a composter. Here's what I did: All bike. No car. All day. Well, just a teeny-tiny bit of car. In the interest of full disclosure, I'll confess that I drove my van to the service station for an oil change and rode my bike home. But the station is only two miles away and an oil change will result in a better-running vehicle, so I think I earned enough carbon-offsets to wipe out the effect of my drive.

As I had written in an earlier post, I had hoped to get panniers for my birthday and my family obliged. Panniers are heavy-duty tote bags that attach to either side of a rear bike rack.

This is what an empty pannier looks like on my bike. It folds up into a compact shape.

Today, I put my panniers to the test. First, I stuffed a bulky winter coat in one, and in the other I put my camera, a small purse, and a bike lock. Nothing too heavy. Here are all of the things that went into the panniers. The winter coat is in the Whole Foods bag.

The pannier expands in every direction, and can hold a surprising amount of stuff. A loaded pannier looks like this. I know what you're thinking: "Can my bike ever look that cool?"

The scenery in Burke offered more variety than I expected. During my time in the saddle, I passed the Silas Burke house, home of Lt. Col. Silas Burke and built in 1825. Architecture in Burke is so new that 1825 might as well be part of the Paleozoic era. I saw a diversity mural, laid out in colorful tile, on the facade of my local elementary school. I spied a giant inflatable turkey on a front lawn. I got a close look at something I've passed thousands of times while driving: a homemade roadside memorial. A white cross fronted by fresh mums was etched with the names Jason and Liz and the date September 23, 2006. Forever in our hearts.

I won't bore you with my grocery list, but I did stop at Giant. There, I unclipped the panniers from the bike and carried them into the store. They have sturdy handles, and loading groceries directly into them eliminates the build-up of plastic shopping bags in my house.

My purchases are shown below. Some of the items were small and dense, like sweet potatoes and a bottle of maple syrup. Others were light but large, and one item - my panettone - was shaped like a trapezoid. I packed the panniers carefully (with room to spare) and paid some attention to weight distribution. I weighed both when I got home and the total was 21 pounds, 18 pounds of which I'd estimate is attributed to purchases.

18 pounds hanging off the rear rack of my bike is much better than 18 pounds hanging off my back. Not wearing a backpack was liberating. Honestly. The extra weight didn't compromise my balance at all. And more importantly, I felt smug and terribly self-righteous.

But I looked like hell. My helmet completely flattened my hair, so much so that my head appeared to be almost wet. I had foregone makeup, exposing my ruddy complexion. My windpants went swoosh swoosh when I walked so I couldn't even skulk, unnoticed, in the stores. But hey - I brought my own reusable bag and reusable water bottle. Isn't that beautiful in its own way? Anyway, this isn't about me. It's about her.
Fortunately, I am not vain. If you could see me, you'd realize how much of an understatement that is. But, just to maintain a shred of dignity, I carried my bike helmet in plain sight, a sort of tangible, preemptive apology for my bad hair. Nobody would criticize the appearance of a middle-aged woman who rode her bike to the store. Having achieved success, I've decided that I'll always carry my bike helmet in stores, even when I've driven there, as a sort of carte blanche for a lousy appearance. I also flaunted my Whole Foods reusable bag. I could have taken my Giant or Target bags, but I wanted to show a true commitment to social responsibility and a certain amount of taste.

That was my personal Green Day, and I plan on having many more. Not be outdone by the other Green Day (Billie Joe and two other guys) I rewrote the lyrics to "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" so they apply to biking. If you don't know the original song, click here to hear it. Then read my own lyrics below. I think I may be a rock star.

I ride suburban streets
with this awkward helmet on my head.
Stop at each red light
to avoid conversion to the dead.

The hills seem steeper now;
they looked so much flatter from the car,
I persevere somehow,
knowing that my house is not too far.

I ride alone.
I ride alone.

I ride alone.
I ride a-

My quads they burn - I think I've got a fever.
The wheels, they turn - I need some pain reliever.
I soldier on - I am a bike believer.
For now I ride alone.

Ah-ah, Ah-ah, Ah-ah, Aaah-ha
Ah-ah, Ah-ah, Ah-ah

My ride was not too long,
And I ran my errands on my bike.
Plus I wrote this song,
Now Billie Joe and I are just alike.

Ha-ha, Ha-ha, Ha-ha. Haaa-Ha
Ha-ha, Ha-ha, Ha-ha

To Have and Have Not

2009-11-04T07:52:00.045-05:00

La ville est plus belle a velo. The city is more beautiful by bike. That's the motto of Velib, the bicycle-sharing program that began in Paris one day after Bastille Day in 2007. Loosely translated, Velib means either "free bike" or "bicycle freedom." For about $43 per year, a rider can purchase an annual pass that gives him access to the shared bikes for 30-minute periods, or longer if he pays a minimal fee. The city of Paris purchased 20,600 bikes. Each cost $3,500. I'll do the math for you. That's $72,100,000.

You can get a lot of bike for $3,500. In this country, $3,500 will buy you a custom-built bike. That means the bike is built to fit your measurements with the highest quality craftsmanship. You pick out the handlebars, saddle, and paint. In the end, it's one-of-a-kind. In Paris, each bike is one of 20,600.
Because they're for public use, Velib bikes are of sturdy construction and the parts that are usually exposed, like the chain, are well-protected. Because the bikes are for Parisians, they must be aesthetically pleasing with clean curvy lines and just a dash of je ne sais quoi (literally, "I don't know what," but figuratively, that certain unnameable quality that makes a person or thing irresistible).

So far, Parisians and other cyclists who visit the City of Lights have rented bikes about 63 million times. (See "French Ideal of Bicycle-Sharing Meets Reality," The New York Times, 10.30.09). An unqualified success? Sort of. Don't let the perky logo fool you.

To date, more than 16,000 bikes have been stolen or vandalized. That's about 80%. (Again, I've done the math. This makes twice.) I almost understand the theft. The bikes are hip, and whereas most hip things are skinny and fleeting, the Velib bikes are rock-solid and durable. Why wouldn't someone steal one? Rent it. Ride it home. Can't thieves join the green movement? Haven't you ever heard of a get-away bike? But what about the vandalism? True, Velib parts have turned up in other countries where they're sold in black markets. But many abused bikes never leave the city limits. They are strewn all over Paris - high-end bikes with their tires punctured, frames bent, and rendered unrideable by vandals.

According to The New York Times, the problem is the the bobos, or really, the resentment that they foment among Paris' underclass. Bobo is shorthand for bourgeois-boheme, and refers to those trend-setting city-folk who looked fabulous in their red hot pants and Ugg boots before they began scooting around on an expensive pair of wheels. The less privileged suburban population views the Velib program as one more perk for the beautiful people. The underclass rebels. It wants to make a statement.

"Take that, you hipsters!" it cries, metaphorically, that is. Vandals destroy the bikes and leave the crumpled frames in plain sight. (Statements not made in plain sight are just secrets.) I am not challenging the feelings of the disenfranchised. I don't deny them the right to protest and self-advocate. I don't know enough about them to even have an opinion. But bike destruction can't be the best way to make a point. That's despicable for so many reasons, and I'll name two here: Bikes for the World (BfW) and Pedals for Progress (P4P).

BfW, a project sponsored by the Washington Area Bicyclist Association, and P4P, based in New Jersey, are non-profit organizations that collect used bikes and ship them to people who need them for basic transportation and communities where a thriving bike shop contributes to economic livelihood.

BfW partners with non-profit community programs and P4P works with non-profit community-owned bikes stores. In both cases, the recipient - whether it's a local Goodwill store or a fledgling bike business - pays nothing for its first shipment of bikes and tools, and then has to earn enough money by selling and repairing bikes to pay for the next one. So far in 2009, BfW and P4P together have shipped nearly 12,000 bikes to Panama, Ghana, Uganda, Sierra Leone, Moldova, El Salvador, and other developing nations. I found this photo of a young Ghanaian boy on the BfW website and he was too cute to keep to myself.

It costs about $35 to ship one bike, one-hundredth of the cost of one Velib.

Using the bike as metaphor seems inescapable. I've done it in this and other essays that I've posted and I can't seem to stop. Once I believed that bikes were simply fun to ride. Now I see them as symbols of privilege, hope, elitism, exclusivity, promise, and high -fashion. I can't resist stating the obvious: French vandals, some of them anarchists, are literally crushing their country's attempts to "go green," while a greater, more silent, less noticeable population is just trying to go - anywhere.

Bikeness

2009-10-30T13:11:00.106-04:00

Getting to the essence of anything is tricky business. Starbucks, for example, has turned the humble morning cup into something gaudy. Coffee plays second fiddle to whipped cream, caramel sauce, and shots of vanilla. That's not a cup of coffee. It's a dessert, even if you drink it at 7:30 in the morning. It packs the calories to prove it. But somewhere, in Costa Rica or Sumatra or Ethiopia, there is a farmer who tends to the beans, not the Torani syrups.

Bikes have gone upscale too. [See my post "Ditch the Pearls. Wear a Bike."] Designers like Fendi and Gucci have tapped into a market where the clients will shell out nearly $10,000 for two wheels with fur saddlebags, leather accessories, and small suitcases that sit the where the woven basket used to be.

Getting to the essence of bikes, then, is no less complicated than finding your coffee under the whipped cream. If you want to see bikes as thoughtfully constructed machines, don't go to a large discount store like Wal-Mart or Target. To appreciate their perfect Bauhaus-ian marriage of form and function, avoid the big bike chain stores too, where the two-wheelers are forced to hide their personalities and stand obediently in line. To celebrate the essence of "bike," think small. How small? Coffee farmer small. Hand-knit sweater small.

I may have found the place that holds the essence of bikes. It is tucked behind an unassuming brick colonial in a narrow detached garage in Falls Church, Virginia. Within its four cinder block walls is a little-known bike restoration business, owned by Mike (of unknown last name) called Red's Restorides. Where most people see trash, Mike finds treasure. He is a human metal detector, a scourer of yard sales, and a student of Craig'sList.

Mike is an understated guy. Not one for extra words. I first called his cell phone where I heard this recorded message: "I can't come to the phone right now. You know what to do." I panicked. What if I didn't know what to do? I'm an outsider. If there were a secret code shared only among cycling's inner circle, I'd be the last to know. I listened for the beep, recorded my message, and hoped for the best. He called me back five minutes later. Simple. Within two hours, I am standing in his garage between a folding bike and riding mower. Bikes hang from the ceiling like bats, and where there are no bikes, there are tools. Evidence of dismembered bikes is strewn on the floor - a frame here, a tube there. There is music, but I don't recognize it.

Mike is smoking a cigarette and drinking something out of a coffee mug. His faded t-shirt says "Sublime." From the back porch, his mom smiles and waves to me. He asks how I found him, and when I reply, "Online," he is surprised.

"Online? Really? I Googled my own website - all of it except for the 'dot com' part - and nothing came up." This fact seems a little sad to me, so I don't mention the numerous typos and misspellings on Red's Restorides. I figure that the skull on the home page is coolly subversive enough to compensate for the errors, and once I meet him, those grammatical oversights just add to his shabby-chic charm.

Mike buys bikes at yard sales, restores them, and then sells them on Craig's List. He'll also repair bikes, but he prefers restoration. If he comes across valuable parts, he'll keep them for himself. He showed me a Brooks saddle worth $250 and a pair of tires for $300. He demonstrated how to fold a folding bike that he recently fixed up for a friend. But like any small business owner, he has to think about his bottom line. He and the owner of Bulldog Bikes, a bike restoration outfit in South Arlington, were once business partners, separated, and are now hammering out a business deal that would allow them to join forces.

More than a bike restorer, Mike is a Renaissance man and is skilled in ways that I can only dream about. He is a small business owner. He has taken welding classes at Northern Virginia Community College (NOVA). He can join pipes using a solder, which is different from welding. He worked with a plumber for a while, though he doesn't want plumbing as a career. "Plumbing is a lot like bike repair," he explains. "You know, lots of metal tubes and pipes that have to fit together, but it's not what I want to do." Right now, he's studying architectural engineering at NOVA. "I'm going to keep working on bikes," he says. "I just need a degree."

A decade ago at age 13, Mike received his first BMX bike. (BMX stands for bike motocross and refers to a style of bike used for extreme tricks and off-road racing.) He immediately took it apart and then reassembled it. I suspect he's one of those people who can't help seeing an object as a collection of discreet parts that are begging to be disassembled and then reunited. "See all these tools?" He points to every square inch of wall that's not covered by a bike. "They're all mine. The house belongs to my parents, but the garage is mine." He is like an artist in his atelier, minus the angst.

I know that BMX bike riders prefer to be airborne. You don't buy a BMX to ride to Safeway. Here's the kind of stunts that BMX bikers do. This isn't Mike, and don't try this at home, or anywhere.
"Can you flip on your bike in the air?" I ask. He can - backwards. "Do you feel yourself going backward, or does it happen too quickly?"

"Man, when you ride a BMX bike, it's like everything slows down. You can feel yourself going backward. You can see things upside down. There's nothing like it. You just ride off the jump and throw yourself back." I'm picturing myself in traction, but Mike looks sturdy, though he's happy to list all the body parts he has broken over the past decade. "Let's see. All my fingers. All my toes. My wrist. And I flattened the arch in my right foot." So much for his career in the Army.

Maybe it's his curly red hair or his mountain-man look or the perfect space he has carved out for himself, but there's something other-worldly about Mike. He's not quite a dude, a hippie, or a yippie. He's that rare person who seems to have all he needs. He grows bikes. He grows beautiful hair. He is self-sustaining.

Ditch the Pearls. Wear a Bike.

2009-10-21T06:57:00.056-04:00

This week, my quest for Total Bike Immersion led me to thoughts of water, torn jeans, steamed mussels, bungalows, iceberg lettuce, VW Beetles, and Seattle. What's the common thread? It's a trajectory, really. From humble to chic. From simple to stylish. From ignored to desired.

To this list, we can add the bicycle. Once merely a combination of simple machines - wheels, axles, levers, and pulleys - the bike has been transformed into a symbol of chic and forced into a game of dress-up. Purveyors of haute-couture have discovered that bikes sell clothes, not my bike, of course (who besides me would want an outfit that complements a charcoal-gray comfort bike?) but high-end, fashionable bikes designed by Fendi and Gucci. And if the clothes are outrageous enough, a simple bike will do.
Look at these Armani models, covered up like last night's leftovers in their aluminum foil shorts. Have you ever seen these guys on the trail? Maybe some people would find them attractive, but I think they're just a little spooky, some sort of android peloton powered by embedded computer chips and tiny solar panels. No doubt their dark glasses are hiding their yellow eyes.

High fashion is, without a doubt, much more fun on a stylish bike. C'est vrai. Would you cover yourself from head to toe in Ralph Lauren and then hop in your Yugo? Heavens no. You wouldn't be caught dead. Haute couture demands un haute velo. Thank goodness for Fendi, the self-described "Italian luxury fashion house," that has designed the world's most excessive bike. Called the Abici, this beauty offers more luxury than my entire house.
Priced at $5,900, it's expensive but what kind of car could you get for that money? The detachable leather case on the front handlebars goes for $975. The more subtle leather accessories include covers for your keys and bike chain and a holder for your GPS navigation system (in case you become disoriented en route to the spa). And if $5,900 isn't eye-popping enough, consider the $9,500 model, which includes the fur saddlebags shown above.

The totally fun and hipster-blog Copenhagen Cycle Chic covers every aspect of cycling that you can imagine, and some that you can't. It firmly believes that choosing a bike and biking clothes is a matter of style, not function. The first tenet of its manifesto is "I choose to cycle chic and, at every opportunity, I will choose style over speed." It holds that cyclists have a responsibility to "contribute visually to a more aesthetically pleasing urban landscape."
And they contribute they do. Wondering where the "aesthetically pleasing" people are? They're in Copenhagen. All of them (except for the few that strayed into Paris). They seem to have congregated there and they're all on bikes. No helmets, so their hair looks great. No Spandex or Lycra, but plenty of funky coats and scarves, messenger bags, and skinny heels.

Maybe, with our safety-conscious, practical American sensibilities, these Danes seem a little ridiculous. But they're on bikes. They're keeping bikes in the news and on the roads. They're having fun on two wheels without circulation-killing shorts or a bulky padded crotch that feels like a diaper. Really, if you're just an around-town kind of cyclist, can you ever make the case for these?

Auto Pilot

2009-10-15T10:52:00.087-04:00

Let's get one inconvenient truth out of the way right now: driving a car is great. We can go just about anywhere we want. In the winter, we have heat, in the summer, A/C. Not to mention music from our play list, cup holders, DVD players, heated seats, global positioning systems, and something I just saw on TV: an insulated storage compartment to keep milkshakes cold, because what we really need as we sit on our duffs is a frosty shake.

Do I drive more than I should? Absolutely. Every day. And why?
Because a gallon of milk weighs 8 1/2 pounds. The container is 10" high and at its widest point, measures nearly 22" around. That's one bulky item. Put the plastic jug in my backpack and suddenly I'm bending over backward to help save the planet. It hurts. But so does driving a mile to pick up some milk and a couple of bananas.

I had two options: Continue to drive to the store or force my family to embrace veganism. Why not just cross milk off the list? Neither one worked for me. I phoned my local bike shop and explained the dilemma to a guy named Christopher. He suggested that I purchase panniers - heavy-duty totes that attach to a rear bike rack and greatly increase hauling capacity. One pannier hangs on the right side of the bike and the other on the left. Even if one pannier is considerably heavier than the other, the weight of the cyclist offsets the imbalance so he remains upright. That means that even I, a person who single-handedly capsized a small sailboat, shouldn't tip over. Panniers aren't expensive and come in water-resistant and waterproof models. I was sold and decided to ask my family for two panniers for my upcoming birthday. My problem was easily solved, but what about the larger, more pernicious issue: America's indifference to (and according to some, disdain for) the bicycle.

I asked Christopher about our lack of appetite for cycling. He blamed it on the car culture and pointed to the prestige of owning a large automobile. Flashback to my grandfather's Buick Electras, where the seats were covered in plastic as if they were cut from raw silk. "People look down on cyclists," Christopher said. "It's our culture. We love our cars." I liked Christopher, not only for his help and insight, but for ending our conversation this way: "You sound like a fun girl. You should come into the store sometime so we can meet." Just a salesy sign-off? Yes, but humor me while I pretend that it was something else.

Why don't I bike more often? Is a lack of storage the only thing stopping me? Why don't Americans in general bike more often? Even a national case of helmet head couldn't be any more unattractive than the fanny pack. One underlying reason is that most American cities lack the infrastructure to accommodate cyclists and the money to create a cycle-friendly community. And motorists aren't too crazy about sharing the roads with their dual-wheeled poorer cousins.

Enter Lance Armstrong, winner of seven consecutive Tours de France, cancer survivor, and founder of LiveStrong, the Lance Armstrong Foundation. In May 2008, Lance opened Mellow Johnny's, a play on the French maillot jaune, which means yellow jersey. (During each of the Tour de France's 21 stages, the current leader wears a yellow jersey.) The 18,000 square-foot biking center, located in Armstrong's native Austin, Texas, is designed to encourage commuting by bike. I called and spoke to Vince. He didn't say that I sounded like a fun girl, but I liked him anyway.

Mellow Johnny's is part bike shop, part cafe, part bike garage, and part locker room. Lance thought of everything when designing this facility.

Need a bike? Buy one at Mellow Johnny's.
Your company doesn't have a bike rack? You can pedal to Mellow Johnny's and leave your bike there all day for free.
Worried about stinky, unsightly sweat? Helmet hair? No problem. For a buck, you can shower there and take advantage of the towel service.
Want Ashley Olson's phone number? No chance. She and Lance are history.
What if your office isn't within walking distance from Lance's place? Take a pedicab or taxi. Sure, a taxi is a car, but a short ride is still better financially and environmentally than driving your own car the entire distance of your commute.
No time for breakfast? Mellow Johnny's has a cafe, and on Fridays, cyclists get free coffee.

Vince said that during the summer months, about 10-15 cyclists leave their bikes at Mellow Johnny's each day, and the free coffee boosts that number on Fridays. The heat, apparently, is not a turn-off, but darkness is. So when the hours of daylight drop off, so do the bike commuters.

Although Mellow Johnny’s is good news for Austin, the Texas capital still falls short as being hospitable to cyclists. In many cases, Vince admits, driving is easier, and bad motorists create unsafe conditions for those who choose to pedal.

Then there's Portland, Oregon which seems to be America’s premier urban place to bike. According to PortlandOnline.com, the city has 200 miles of bikeways, including bike lanes, boulevards, and multi-use paths. Portland has found that bike lanes - travel lanes on the road that are delineated by paint - offer many advantages to cyclists. They create a defined space where people can ride confidently and they decrease the number of bicyclers that slalom around traffic. Motorists benefit too. They can see bikes more easily and learn how to share the road with them. Still, some drivers don’t realize that the bike lane isn’t for cars, so the city of Portland has painted the bike lane markings blue, as many European cities do. The result is that thousands of Portlanders commute to work by bike each day.

Cycling, though, like other hallmarks of European society - soccer, universal health care, and kilts - has a ways to go.

Despite the best efforts of superstars like Lance Armstrong and environmentally-conscious cities like Portland, most people still drive. Why? In addition to asking Christopher, I also spoke to Vince (from Mellow Johnny’s), Larry (from Mt. Airy Bikes, a well-known specialty bike shop in Maryland), my sister (a cyclist and cycling advocate in Pittsburgh), and my husband (a member of the Spandex® crowd). Of course, there’s no single reason for the lack of enthusiasm for biking, and to my surprise, nobody mentioned the embarrassment of helmet head. But here are some informed reasons from informed people:

Because most Americans are raised to rely on cars and even strive to purchase their “dream car,” there is an ingrained cultural bias against cycling.
Cars remain a symbol of prestige; bikes are the objects of scorn. That leaves cyclists in one of two categories. They are either (1) people who are too poor afford a car, or (2) freaks or members of a fringe group, who choose to bike when they could drive.
The infrastructure of most American communities does not support biking; cities and towns are designed for cars.
Bikes are for children, and as such, are something you should outgrow.
Many motorists are hostile to cyclists and resent having to share the road. They will lean on their horns or give them the finger for no apparent reason.

Although I stick by my helmet head theory, I have another idea that my small pool of experts overlooked. The strip center. I harbor a profound loathing for this staple of the American suburb. Yet, in a show of uncharacteristic self-restraint, I’ll say only this (and I'm using my calm voice): if communities had storefronts that faced the road, (like Portsmouth, NH below) people just might pedal to the center of town, lock up their bikes, take a stroll, and do whatever they need to do. Get a cup of coffee. Buy some pears. Find a good used book.

But the strip center parking lot is a dangerous place, and certainly one of Dante’s rings of hell (probably #5 , where you run into the wrathful, sullen or slothful). With cars driving into and backing out of parking spaces, people loading groceries into their trunks, prohibitions on cycling on the sidewalk, and delivery trucks parked in the fire lane, there is no safe place for a cyclist to go.

The strip center is also a place of hasty exits and no wonder. How many Nail Palaces does one city need? Who really wants to window shop at My Eye Doctor anyhow or inspect the bags of mulch stacked in front of Giant? Not me. Don’t have time. I have to drive my 7-passenger minivan 2 miles to the local bike shop to dispel the myth that I’m a fun a girl.

W&OD Trail

2009-10-12T12:14:00.110-04:00

On Sunday, I was almost scientific. I test-drove a new bike and hoped to evaluate its comfort and handling. But in addition to hopping on a new set of wheels, I also rode a new route, rode farther than usual, and tried to ride faster than usual. Instead of changing just one variable - the bike - I changed a bunch of variables. A classic mistake and a big no-no in science. If Gregor Mendel had been half as careless with his pea plants, we might believe that eye color is transferred from mother to child by fairies.

For my weekend ride, I rented the orange bike from Bikes@Vienna. It's called a crank forward, which is something of a mutt - not quite a traditional bike but not completely recumbent. I photographed my rented wheels near my own bike so you can see how it is proportioned differently. Its saddle is wider and sits a little lower. It is positioned farther from the handlebars and behind the pedals so that the pedal crank is forward of the seat. This is the bike I rode for 18 miles (from Fairfax through Falls Church and into Arlington and then back again) on the easternmost 9 miles of the the Washington & Old Dominion trail (W&OD).

Even on the short stretch I covered, the ride offered variety. I saw Hispanic men playing soccer on a velvety green field, a couple kissing on an untended patch of grass, a stony brook, and a red caboose. I crossed over Interstate 66 and the Capitol Beltway where I learned not to look down. I cycled under power lines that looked like enormous naked scarecrows. At a distance was WETA's headquarters.
A metrorail train entered and exited my peripheral vision as if my sideways glance were a tunnel. High-rise apartment buildings, green and purple wild grapes, pricey homes, daisies, bridges, children on bikes and in strollers, and playground equipment formed a patchwork of the urban and suburban.

Here is what I could have bought on my ride: halal meat, used wheels (llantas usados) a half-smoke sausage sandwich, a Big Gulp, unleaded gas, prepared Asian food, or anything for a dollar. In theory, I could have cashed a check, but I'm unemployed and have no government benefits.

I liked seeing other people on their bikes. I admired the shrubbery in strangers' backyards. Even the cars whizzing below me on the Beltway seemed new. Still, I felt sort of like a Shriner in a mini-car on my low-riding crank forward bike and a little frumpy in my capri pants, especially when the sleek, narrow-hipped, thin-faced, aerodynamic, Spandex® crowd sped past me as if each one had a jet-pack strapped to his back.

Finding a comfortable gear required some effort, but the shifting was smooth and fortunately the trail was mostly flat. If I were pedaling hard, I sat forward on the saddle. When coasting, I wriggled back.

I stopped at every stop sign. I waited for the little white man to illuminate before crossing Lee Highway and Columbia Pike. I said "on your left" as I passed pedestrians, the only people I was fast enough to pass. I wore my awkward helmet and slowed down to read signs. All in all, I was, without a doubt, the biggest dweeb on the trail.

In Arlington, I passed through Bluemont Junction, and that's where I stopped at this red caboose.
It's also where I met the caboose docent, the gentleman pictured below. When I first saw him, I was convinced that his name must be Ernie. Turns out his name is Bernie, which left me feeling smug (for getting the rhyme correct) yet disappointed (for being basically wrong).

Bluemont Junction is part of the park of the same name, a 14-acre parcel land maintained by Arlington County Parks and Recreation. I declined an invitation to tour the caboose. I don't like small, potentially smelly spaces and I was too lazy to lock up my rented wheels.

At about mile 15 of my 18-mile trek, my legs became heavy and I was ready to stop riding. Of course, because I let my scientific variables run amok, I don't know if the source of my discomfort was the bike, the increased distance, the faster speed (I averaged almost 12 mph for the first 9 miles), or my empty stomach.

I returned the bike later that afternoon to the bike people at Bikes@Vienna. The owner, John, asked me in a quiet voice if I had enjoyed my day. "What was your favorite part?" he wanted to know. I can't remember how I answered, but I do know that seeing my van at mile 18 was definitely among the highlights.

P.S. Please note that ScooterSkirtCyclist now includes a Blog Roll. Check it out for some clever blogging.

Mason Neck

2009-10-05T11:41:00.042-04:00

Last Thursday, with my cabin fever approaching its pinnacle, the little voice inside my head said, "Just go." I gave Adam and Eve, my guinea pigs, a pile of romaine lettuce. I left the puffs of breakfast cereal adrift, floating like little corks in their bowls of milk, and jammed my bike into the back of my Honda Odyssey (for those of you without progeny: an Odyssey is a minivan, but a really cool one). And go I did.

Maybe in the true spirit of adventure and human endurance, I should have biked to Mason Neck. But that trip would have clocked about 40 miles on my bike computer, which could handle the strain, and 4o miles on my leg muscles, which could not. So in the true spirit of self-preservation and pain avoidance, I drove. I didn't know the best route for two-wheeling anyway. One way = 18 miles.

Mason Neck State Park, located in Lorton,Virginia, is simply a beautiful spot. It's surrounded on three sides by three different bodies of water: Pohick Bay, Belmont Bay (shown below), and the Potomac River. It is fairly flat and comprises a little over 1,800 acres. The park offers all sorts of amenities - a boat launch, hiking trails, restrooms, a playground - but I went to bike.

The bike path is not very long, but has many advantages for novice cyclists like me. It is wide and paved with a white center line and stop signs posted at intersections with other trails and access roads. It snakes its way through the forest, but never so far from the entrance road that I felt isolated. Mileage markers dot one side of the path and there are conveniently located benches, bike racks, and a ranger station. The majority of the path is flat, but a few hills and sharp bends let me practice my shifting and handling skills. On the flat stretches, I focused on increasing my average speed, and thanks to my bike computer, I know exactly how slow I am.

The path winds for about 3 miles inside the park. The trees and their foliage were still dense and green, and except for the cool temperature, it could have been spring. As much as I appreciate green, I didn't think the monochromatic scenery would make an interesting picture, but on the side of a bridge, some wild blueberries caught my eye.
I also spotted two deer, standing almost unnaturally still on the side of the bike path. I got off my bike and tiptoed closer, but they ran off into the woods. Getting a picture was impossible.

Outside the park, the bike path continues on Gunston Road, where a quick ride (not quite 3/4 of a mile) lands you at Gunston Hall, the home of George Mason. The road that leads to the Mason mansion is flanked by open grass and a line of trees on both sides. I didn't ride its entire length because I noticed there is an entrance fee and I had absolutely no money with me. (I had already fleeced the Commonweatlh of Virginia by not paying the $3 to get into Mason Neck, which is requested based on the honor system. I've since mailed Mason Neck the money to restore my honor.) Because of my poor financial planning, I have no photographs of the mansion, but here are a couple from the access road.

The bike path ends shortly after the entrance to Gunston Hall, but Gunston Road is wide with good visibility and little traffic, so I think that a relatively inexperienced rider like me could confidently tackle it. At its southeast end, it empties into the Potomac; at the more populated northwest end, it crosses Route 1. I saw only one cyclist during my visit. He wore a tie-dyed-look Spandex shirt and something equally clingy on the bottom. I was wearing a t-shirt and hoodie and exercise pants from Target that had a superfluous flare on the bottom of each pant leg, which flapped around until I restrained each one by wrapping it close to my calf in packing tape, which is this fall's "must-have" accessory for the Scooter Skirt Cyclist and all other pedaling fashionistas.

The News Cycle

2009-09-30T06:21:00.057-04:00

"This is not my beautiful car" (so I'm trading it in for a bike).

Are the media excited about cycling or David Byrne's authorial skills? Whatever the answer, biking has grabbed some headlines recently, thanks in part to the man who famously asked, "Why the big suit?" In his new book, Bicycle Diaries, David Byrne, lead singer of The Talking Heads and master of the arts, chronicles his extensive two-wheeled travels. I haven't read the book, but book reviewers Krista Walton of The Washington Post and Geoff Nicholson of The New York Times did, and published reviews in their Sunday editions.

Nicholson examined the book with a more critical eye than Walton, but still with a relatively light touch. Both provided a similar summary: David Byrne rides a folding bike in the United States and through parts of Europe and Asia. The written record of his adventures, as captured in "Bicycle Diaries," extends beyond cycling as he shares humorous anecdotes, cultural observations, his personal philosophies, and expounds on global concerns, like sustainability. I'd read Byrne's diary just to get to a line that resonates with me and was quoted in the Times: "You don't really need the spandex." In fact, if one of the book's aims is to encourage cycling, I think that that simple statement should have been the title. The book's list price is $25.95, but is available from Amazon for $16.52.

When Being Hip Requires a Living Will

On Monday, the Post ran an article about fixed-gear bikes, or fixies ("Look Ma, No Brakes!" Style, 28 September 2009). Long the choice of couriers (those crazy skinny guys that weave through city traffic, putting their life on the line in every possible way, to deliver packages to office buildings), fixies are now the symbol of hip urbanism and a renegade spirit. Frankly, this description intimidates me, and I can't imagine my scooter-skirted self barreling to the library on a bike with no gears and no brakes.
That's right - no gears and no brakes. Scary. But the lack of hardware creates clean, unobstructed lines and a bike that is sleek, simple, and beautiful.

A fixie has only one speed. No downshifting to tackle the big hills. And it lacks a freewheel, which means it doesn't coast. The pedals and chain directly power the rear wheel, so if the bike is moving, the pedals are moving. It lacks brakes, and for people like me who value the ability to stop easily and often, this is a major drawback. Simply pedaling more slowly will ease the bike to a stop. Obviously, perfecting this slowing method takes practice and planning.

A skid stop lets you stop quickly and look death in the eye at the same time. It involves standing on the pedals, leaning forward to relieve the pressure on the rear tire, raising the rear tire ever so slightly, and then using your leg muscles to lock the pedals in a horizontal position.

If neither of these stopping options offers you the security you crave, I'd suggest installing handbrakes, but that, of course, would ruin your reputation as an urban hipster or edgy, brooding punk. I'm going stick to my dowdy comfort bike because I value my reputation as a safe, suburban, risk-averse mom.

On an unrelated note. . . As I typed "how to stop a fixed-gear bike" into the search field, the Google pull-down menu suggested I select "how to stop a fixed cat from spraying." It sounded interesting, but somehow not germane.

Making Cities Bike-Friendly

I am a faithful reader of Walter Scott's Personality Parade because I care about the number of new network shows due out this fall and how many will last, in Mr. Scott's opinion. I also wonder if Jared, Subway spokesman and famous dieter, is still, technically, dieting. And for catching up with my childhood stars, Valerie Bertinelli, David Cassidy, and Eve Plumb, no other publication tops Parade. This past Sunday, however, I ventured beyond page one. I overlooked the piece about Drew Barrymore ("America's Perkiest Star"), skipped the recipe for Confetti Cornbread ("the color comes from diced peppers!") to read an article about bike-friendly cities.

"A Free-Wheeling City" , by Bill Donahue, focuses on Columbia, Missouri's efforts to promote cycling and profiles the city's cycling mayor. It also describes similar pro-cyclist/pro-pedestrian campaigns in Minneapolis, Sheboygan County, Wisconsin, and Marin County, California, all of which, including Columbia, are sharing $90 million in federal funds to make these jurisdictions more friendly to pedalers and walkers. Other cities, such as New York and Louisville, are taking steps to get people out of their cars and cabs.

Mr. Donahue interviews recent biking converts and reports on a new transportation bill in Congress that could designate up to $1 billion annually for cycling and walking projects. The bill is sponsored by Rep. Jim Oberstar (D., Minn.) but decried as a pet project by Senator John McCain (R., Ariz). Well, you can decide for yourself.

Bike People

2009-09-25T13:16:00.090-04:00

I’ve long regarded retail shops as autonomous little worlds, each with its own tiny population, vocabulary, and priorities. The man who sells you a rug says “plush,” “pile,” “knots,” and “looped.” The hairdresser who sells you a better you says “henna,” “bob,” and “crimp.” I walk into their shops, adopt their words for while, and then shed them like an extra layer of clothing as I leave. I never give these encounters much thought. There’s no symbolism in Berbers or highlights. Pleasant though they are, these are places to be polite and do business. Retail experiences don’t stick with me in a serious way. At least that was true until I met the bike people.

The bike people are purists - like tough guys who take their coffee black or baseball fans who believe deep in their core (as I do) that the American League should let their pitchers bat. At Bikes@Vienna, the guys don’t say much. They wear matching bright green t-shirts decorated with the store logo and coordinated bandanas pulled down low on their foreheads. They listen to NPR and they work on bikes. Someone periodically arms himself with a plastic bag and takes Java, the silver lab, for a walk. And I suppose they eat lunch. They don’t try to sell you anything, but will patiently answer questions and to my surprise, while not exactly posing, they allow themselves to be photographed. All in all, it seems like a good life to me.

Bikes@Vienna is not on a street; it’s located in a wide alley that connects Church Street and Maple Avenue in Vienna, Virginia (because everything in Vienna is either on or connected to Maple Avenue). And it’s a bike shop only in the most technical sense. Yes, it sells bikes and parts. But really, it’s a bike garage. Cycling hardware and bike parts coat the place like splattered paint. On the walls, piled on the floor, on work benches and in back rooms, there are cranksets, rims, pedals, and saddles. Bikes hang on the walls.

There is no showroom - that would almost seem pretentious. Against the back wall, the inventory of recumbents leans four-bikes-deep with chains and handlebars intertwined. The more compact foldable bikes are lined up so tightly that pulling out one bike would tug at all of them. Some online research yielded this description of a bike: “everything is completely exposed. There are no covers or sheet metal hiding ¬any of the working parts that propel you down the road -- on a bicycle, it is all out in the open” (http:adventure.howstuffworks.com/bicycle.htm). Bikes@Vienna pays homage to the bike by being the bike.

Nothing in this shop separates the bikes from the bike people. No rows of Lycra® pants, or colorful parades of Nalgene® water bottles, or that bike shop staple – PowerBars®. All of the excess has been stripped away. Even the pressure to sell bikes seems to be missing. If these guys swam, they’d probably skinny dip. If you’re thirsty or hungry during your visit, don’t count on the vending machine for relief. Somebody replaced the soda, chips, and mints with cycling supplies.

The bike people, John (the owner), Tim, and Al spend hours each day in this messy mechanical world of derailleurs, cranks, and front forks. They lube and rotate and tinker and tighten. If they are like my brother-in-law or my husband – both cyclists – they probably dote on each gear, on every inch of cable, perfecting the function of one tiny mechanism, removing the last bit of mud from a dirty chain, or ensuring the smooth shifting from gear to gear. Bike people find joy in getting the small things right.

I am a generalist, and satisfied as long as the big things are almost right. That there is milk in my refrigerator and gas in my tank doesn’t mean I have any idea of how much I paid for a gallon of either one. Cogs and pulleys don’t interest me. I appreciate my computer and cell phone when they function properly, but I have no interest in how or why they work, and I certainly don’t want to be forced to fix them. I’ll spend all day tinkering with 7 words for a paper and lay awake all night reordering them in my head, but other than that, I take a bird’s-eye view. But now I feel like by ignoring something small, I’m missing something big.

The bike guys turn my head. I like the sound of their words: ‘bents (short for recumbent bike) and trikes, which are three-wheeled ‘bents and the rhythmic click-click-clicking of turning pedals as counterpoint to the gurgling voice of Diane Rehm. I like the honest atmosphere of the shop and I find in it a philosophy of openness and joy in small perfections.

Maybe I am imbuing Bikes@Vienna with a spirit that I’ve created for my own purposes. Have I elevated greasy rags and wrenches to undeserved heights? I don’t think so, and the shop’s website backs me up. The mission statement lists all of the specialty bikes that are for sale, and the last line says, “Our bike shop offers high-quality cycling products and service, but what we really promote are values.” It continues by disclosing that what the shop lacks is “Bad attitude, long service waits, junk, idiocy (or should that be idiotitude?)” (www.bikesatvienna.com). To me, a bike shop whose website questions its own diction is worth a visit.

The website links to the shop's blog, which dabbles in subjects beyond the scope of bike riding. September entries include a brief snapshot of David Byrne’s new book, “Bicycle Diaries,” including its publisher and price, a fond musing about John’s 82-year old father friending him on Facebook, and an affectionate paragraph about the wedding of friend who worked in the shop as a bike mechanic. I had read the website and blog before my visit and now couldn’t resist asking John who is responsible for writing them (knowing that the nerdy question would expose my false athleticism as the sham that it is). He is the author. “The writing has a nice tone, a warm feel,” I say. “It's part of the reason that I decided to come here.” John sort-of smiles.

John knew that I was on a fact-finding mission, and not in the market for a new bike. “We can probably help you, plus it’s raining anyway,” he said during my introductory phone call. “It’ll be a slow day. What time will you get here?” To thank John for his hospitality, I offer to take Java for a walk. When I met her, she took her leash in her mouth and handed it to me, and I swear she whispered “please” between her clenched teeth. John hands me a poop bag and points me towards some grass. He says that she takes her cues from her walker. I tell him that I’m the alpha, and with that, Java, the bandana-clad dog, and I are off for a mid-day romp. I am careful to stay on the grass and close to the shop. I return her sooner than I’d like, but I don’t want John to worry. “No poop,” I say and hand him the empty bag.

Now that I’ve walked the dog, am I closer to being one of the guys? Can I appreciate the beauty of simple machines working in concert? Will I be able to find large meanings in small things? True, I don’t wear the shop’s official t-shirt or bandana. My fingernails are grease-free. I don’t know a front fork from a freewheel. But the dog and I formed an affectionate bond. I know I felt it, and I’m pretty sure that she did too.

Burke Lake Ride

2009-09-20T22:04:00.072-04:00

Yesterday, my forced lethargy was lifted and steroid pack empty. Finally, I got the green light to get back in the saddle - literally. I ride an older model Trek Navigator 100 comfort bike. Although I bought the bike only six years ago, Trek has stopped producing this model. Bikes, like iPods, age rapidly. (My '04 iPod Mini, for example, is as thick as a turkey club sandwich.) My friend and her 12-year old daughter joined me on a 13-mile loop in south central Fairfax County, Virginia. When I mapped out the ride, I was looking for was a moderately easy, but interesting and varied route, and I think the one I pieced together fit the bill. And there were a couple of added bonuses that I hadn't considered. First, we never had to ride on the road, and second, every busy intersection had walk signals. The route offered a variety of riding surfaces, manageable rolling hills, and great scenery.

The first mile and half, heading south on Burke Centre Parkway toward Lee Chapel Road, was tedious. The bike path was in good condition, but we had to cross a couple of busy intersections. The most dangerous point, however, was passing the 7-Eleven. The Slurpee and Big Gulp crowd zooms in and out of the small parking lot with a sugar-induced abandon. But these minor aggravations were worth it. Heading south on Lee Chapel is largely downhill on a fairly new and wide bike path. The trees that separate backyards from the road offer intermittent shade.

At the Fairfax County Parkway we went left and headed to the South Run Rec Center, which is technically located in Springfield, but is an easy ride from Burke and Fairfax Station. Behind the rec center is one end of a trail that connects the rec center with Burke Lake Park, below.

The connecting trail - wide, smooth, and safely tucked away in sylvan bliss - was the perfect ride. It carved its way through woods and open grassy spaces dotted with wild flowers.

Even the cleared swath that was bisected by a column of power lines vibrated with vivid greens and yellows, which my camera didn't capture, but you can trust me on this.
Photo credit to my friend, Lisa Connors, who took the picture on the left.

Our path had only one steep incline, and as we neared Burke Lake Park, we could see homes - really fancy ones - on our left and right.

We approached the lake at its south side and rode on top of the dam. The ride around the lake is 4.6 miles. We didn't ride the loop because my young companion, Meghan, was uncomfortable on her too-small bike and Lisa's tires were a little thin for the lumpy and sharp terrain of the path. Plus, it was a gorgeous Saturday, and the path was crowded with walkers, dogs, baby strollers, dogs, and even more dogs, and I ran into another friend and talked for too long.

Instead, we headed up the driveway to Ox Road (Route 123). Since the boom of new housing that has sprung up in the Lorton area and the conversion of the Lorton Correctional Facility to an artists' colony, Ox Road has been widened and graced with a generous bike path. We followed Ox Road north, tackled a couple of medium hills, and then headed south on the Fairfax County Parkway and back home to Burke (with a detour to Giant and Starbucks). Both Ox Road and the parkway are noisy, but they are handy and safe connectors for cyclists.

From Ox Road, more ambitious cyclists could easily follow 123 north and go left onto Clifton road to Clifton, or follow 123 south to Lorton or Occoquan. I'm working on building my ambition (and my quadriceps), so watch for future posts when I almost become one of "them."

Just Say No

2009-09-15T11:15:00.017-04:00

Steroids and athletes have long been star-crossed lovers. You may recall that in 2006, American cyclist Floyd Landis was stripped of his Tour de France victory because he tested positive for doping. So it is with no small amount of shame that I admit to entering into a similar ill-fated relationship with the steroid, methylpred. I blame it not on my trainer, but on my dentist, who prescribed the drug after I underwent some minor oral surgery.

I had hoped that the steroids would do for my cycling what they did for Alex Rodriguez and Roger Clemens, but I still throw like a girl and I can't hit. To make matters worse, my dentist said that any activity that would accelerate my heart rate was off-limits. Squishing my head into my helmet accelerates my heart rate, so actual pedaling was out of the question.

So much for the benefits of performance-enhancing drugs. I'm pretty sure my steroids were faulty, anyway. I nearly broke down crying in Staples (the selection of 3 X 5 index cards seemed to be wanting) and then I chased two people down the road because they neglected to pick up their dog poop.

In light of my altered state, I decided to play it safe and post some cycling websites. There are many more, but here are some samples. Their links are listed on the left.

The Washington Area Bicyclist Association (WABA) promotes bicycling for fun, commuting, and fitness, and focuses on how increased cycling contributes to a more livable environment. WABA is an advocate for cyclists and educates cyclists and motorists of all ages about riding safely.

Bike Arlington (BA) is dedicated to encouraging people to ride their bikes. The website is large and comprehensive, and includes information about commuting by bike (bike-on-bus, bike-on-rail), cycling laws, maps, and much more.

Bike and Brunch (B&B) is a group of Jewish and mainly single cyclists. They ride on Sundays from April through November. B&B's website has membership instructions and describes some of the group's favorite rides.

Babes on Bikes (BOB) is a group of DC-area women who ride together regularly. BOB's website provides information about its Monday, Wednesday, and Friday rides as well as some Babe poetry and useful links, among other things.

Brother to Brother Sister to Sister United is a predominantly African-American non-profit cycling team whose primary mission is to raise awareness about HIV/AIDS and to raise money that is used to educate people in the DC metro area about HIV/AIDS and other health-related issues.

What I'm Not

2009-09-06T10:17:00.014-04:00

I am a scooter skirt cyclist. I don't wear Lycra shorts with padded bottoms. I don't wear candy-colored, tight jerseys made of some rubbery material that clings like a second skin. I wear scooter skirts, sporty skirts with built-in shorts underneath. I wear plain white tops made of wicking material. I ride a modest 21-gear Trek Navigator comfort bike, which means I sit upright, my trunk nearly perpendicular to the road. The handlebars extend sideways; they don't curl downward like ram horns. Because I am uncoordinated, my shoes do not click into the pedals as I consider that too great of a risk. I spend a lot of time squeezing the hand brake to maintain a low safe speed. My helmet makes my head feel too big, but I value my head so I wear it faithfully. I am a scooter skirt cyclist.

I am looking for places in or near Northern Virginia to ride my bike. I like smooth, shady trails with gentle slopes and gentle riders. I have a bike rack, so the biking location does not have to be within biking distance.

I would also like to monitor and share with you my progress as a cyclist, which means that I need a bike computer. My husband, an avid cyclist, told me the features that I should look for: auto stop/start, speedometer, odometer, trip odometer, average speed for the current trip, and elapsed time for the current trip. Wish me luck as I dip my toe into the intersecting worlds of cyclists and quantitative thinkers.