Dream So Real

In a dream I was gathered with my family in a pleasant room in a nursing home, amber walls with flowers on the table. We were resigned that there was nothing left to do there and were comforting our Mother while my Father stood off to the side, wearing his signature newbuck jacket and favorite beret, looking at the doorway, ready to go home.

In reality my Father was my hero and role model. He taught me to be confident in myself and respectful of others while always maintaining a positive outlook on life. As a father he would never micro-manage, but would simply instill seeds for us to grow, to let us each blossom on our own.

When I was 5 or 6, he must have sensed my interest in bicycles. One of my fondest early memories was when he’d plop me on the on the handlebars of our English Cruiser and ride me around our block. I remember the rush of wind when we screamed down The Big Hill. Inspired by this shared experience, I took off my training wheels and soon set The Record for riding around the block at maybe 33, but I fear an obsessive 100 laps.

Always a man of action, Dad had the uncommon sense for doing the right thing. I witnessed this as an eight year old while traveling with family in a foreign country. A woman had been involved in an accident and lay bloodied in the street. Without hesitating, Dad rushed to the scene to tender aid. In grade school I wanted to be a doctor like Dad, but my obsession with drawing and building models indicated a different track, which he unflinchingly supported. While I would not be saving lives, through architecture I strive to uplift people within their environment.

My Mother and Father had a wonderful 60-year marriage based on love and respect for each other and commitment to family. Now that I am about to be a father, I am starting to realize even more deeply his influence. My wife and I deeply wished that he would have had the chance to see our unborn son, but in our son we hope to see some of Dad.

Now Hear This

The Frogman made it out to The Sunday Ride but had to don my knee-high tourniquet, an egregious piece of fashion but an article that helps keep my anterior tibialis muscle attached to my shin bone. That's worth braving a comment or two (or ten). Many of my comrades took the opportunity to kindly quip, "Business casual-nice look", or "You're late for your meeting", while some recognized my attire and asked with concern, "What the F--- is wrong with you?!"

Talk this week has been all about the Capital Crescent Trail speed limit in Bethesda, a trail safety measure pointed at only on user: Cyclists. Yeah, make it "safer" by randomly posting a 15 mph sign to slow bikers down but ignore chastising the Oblivious-IPod-RollerBladers, or the Infinite-Ratchet-Leash-Dog-Walkers or the Random-180-degree-turn-Joggers. Word, that Washington Post article (too lazy to link and you've read it by now) says it targets the Lance Armstrong Wannbees, but if pulled over at least I can still produce an active USA Cycling License and you'd never catch me sucking face with an Olson Twin (Either One!)

So stop writing blogs and write to the Editors and make this injustice heard, or we'll be chased off the paths as well as the roads. Why, just the other evening (Not the one where the winds were doing a "Surrender Dorothy", Kansas style) I was on a Trek down Persimmon Tree Road where a pubescent pig-tailed punk in an aggressively passing Ford Exploiter or Exhibition or Excretion or whatever you call them, yells "Sidewalk!"

Right. Let's do the math. If I'm humming along at 26 mph and the speed limit on sidewalks is 15 mph, then that would be like driving on a highway posting double-nickels at 91 mph! Some would call that "aggressive". So we're not welcome on the trails and too often threatened on the roads. It is our right, but one we have to fight for. Get out and prove a point by riding responsively and don't worry about what anyone calls to you.

You know, in retrospect maybe she was actually yelling "Nice sock!"

Bike 2 Work

Bike to Work Week.
A romantic notion that crashes into the reality of meetings, weather and family obligations that comprise the usual rash of excuses which leaves one stuck in a car reading the same tired old bumper stickers like "01.20.09", "Envision Whirled Peas", "I may be slow but I'm ahead of you" or "Stop Continental Drift". Screw That. I had a meeting in the deep south, like in Fairfax County, so I hitched a ride with the wife to Alexandria and then biked the remaining 14 miles to my jobsite near Mt. Vernon, did the meeting then back to the office in Bethesda and then home. 52 miles and hardly saw a car.

One forgets how well endowed our trails are when tears roll out our eyes while screaming down River Road, but if you slow down for a change there are treats along the way, even in Virginia! The GW Parkway Trail hugs the Potomac (slightly flooded during my foray) offering marsh & river views, battlements like Fort Washington & Fort Hunt, colonial charm of Old Town, the industrial brute of Mirant mountaintop-scraping coal-fired power plant, adrenalin pumping game of Chicken with the incoming planes to Washington National (last time I checked we did not live in Reagan, DC) at Gravelly Point, vertigo inducing panoramas atop the Key Bridge and the Rail-to-Trail along the historic C&O Canal up to my work destination.

How could such a trek be better rewarded than by finding my place atop the podium as bike Commuter of the Day in the company of none other than Miss Maryland, USA! Yes it's a tough job but I chose to do it in an effort to save all those other lost souls who need to enjoy cycling at whatever level one partakes. I may be another month away from healing my poor anterior tibialis into racing shape, but at any speed we can take pleasure of being responsible commuters, riding to improve our health and suspend denuding our earth, and read about interesting people under bridges like "Borf" or "Cool Disco Dan" instead of the elementary school Honor Roll while ingesting bong hits of CO2.

The weather could suck. There might be a meeting. A spouse may be waiting. Fugettaboutit. Repeat the mantra:
Work to Eat
Eat to Live
Live to Bike
Bike to Work

BPVC Proverb

Hosed!

After over a month of whining about my shin split tendinitis anterior tibialis muscle strain, the most scruitinzed phisical condition to hit Washington since Gilbert Arenas' bruised knee or Joe Theisman's snapped leg or Bill Clinton's bent, uh, well, anyway today it felt pretty good, taking me on a pain-free commute in (6.25 miles) and home (15 miles), over the hills and far away (like the Led Zeppelin song), but I only did Anglers and let's face it, 21 miles is not too far.

Speaking of whining, my "Buddies" decided to record my tepid return to riding by posting same Frogman with the compression sock (old-man hosiery) prescribed by my P.T. Now you're thinking that a self-respecting cyclist with any sense of style would do the smart thing and stay home or ride on the sidewalk where this fashion attrocity wouldn't be noticed by anyone who mattered.
But I didn't.
In fact I grabbed anything green to announce that I Am Back and by next week ready to take a pull or maybe not get dropped on River. Ambitious? You decide when I rip somebody's legs off besides my own.

P.T. Cruiser

So I'm walking gingerly back from my Physical Therapy session when I see - OH, first about my P.T.: My anterior tibialis was getting no better for like 4 weeks until I started my visits and between Western electrical stimulation, ultrasound, compression to the point of mummification and later Eastern fascia alignment, energy points and spinal massage earning positive results enough to take a 16 mile ride along MacArthur & Persimmon Tree with only a dull throb to remind me to take it easy. Since it essentially feels like a shin splint, I've been thinking about how to seriously cross train including running on my flat frog feet to strengthen those regions. How? I have no idea.

Flashback to walking back from PT when I glance into the patio of the Harp & Fiddle when I see an old architecture colleague chatting it up with a couple of babes (attractive women). We order more Guinness and catch up only to find out that he has completely bagged his architectural career in favor of Personal Training (PT)! He's totally into it and assures me he won't look back. I'm totally wondering if he'd set me up with a recovery program.
A serendipitous encounter for sure.

It takes a lot of cajones to go through one of the most gruelling graduate programs only to practice for 5 years and turn your back on the whole thing, even while still paying your student loans! But I respect the resolve to make the decision and confidently move on. I know it's the right thing for him, and a good PT may be the right thing for me.

Double Whammy

Alas, Spring.
Contrary to the common notion that spring is the beginning of new life, happy with birds chirping and gay with bees doing their thing and thought of positively by Thoreau, to me they are dark days, a teasing season to be endured and held off like Odysseus's' sirens, for all that is green may as well be Kryptonite for to me it is only allergy season and it cannot end too soon.

Sure there are some drugs out there that can mask symptoms or overcompensate and leave one dry as a scone often while bringing early onset senility or an inebriation that won't wear off. I won't take them (I also won't take some other drugs which may be why I only have a few top 10 finishes to my name, but I digress). Normally the most effective elixir is the adrenaline pumped during and long after a hard ride. My sinus' get blown out and the natural endorphins keep me cleaned out and so there, I beat back the spring dragon and ride triumphantly into the sunset/garage.

'08 has dealt me a cruel hand, however, as previously posted I have wrecked havoc to my anterior tibialis and as a result have not been able to partake in the activity which is the basis for this blog (As "The Dude" would say: "That's a bummer, Man" and he'd be correct). Oils, creams, massages have so far only inflamed, and a regimen of ultrasound and Yogi stretching are in the next round.

People who know Frogman will say he's not a complainer*, so I can only hope for the promise of Physical Therapy's healing benefits of and the rain which washes the air of the ill humors to pull me out of this equinoctial abyss, for now I am unable to do it on my own. Without becomming maudlin, this is one of those times to reflect and count your blessings and think about those who have been more seriously afflicted and have come back or, more inspiring, carried on in the face of far darker prospects.
As Ah-nold would say, I'll be baaack!"

*Except about muscle tears, lacerations, road rash, burns, burrs, blood, boils, bunched chamois, locusts; ice, sleet, hail, rain, darkness, drought, murrain, flies, frogs (!); pot holes, groomed asphalt, soft shoulders, Jersey Walls, Jersey Girls, Girls Gone Wild, punctures; Trade Zone, testosterone, iphone, phone home, homophobe, EPO, ELO, ELP, XTC (for never touring!), THC, HC, ANSI; W, WWM?, Double Whammies.

Are Bicycles better than Women?

This little tidbit of levity came by way of a non-cycling and younger work colleague, and while these opinions expressed are not necessarily my own, it's good to know that other people out there in cyberspace are talking about bicycles. Or is it women?

1. You can ride your bicycle any time of the month.

2. Bicycles don't whine unless something is really wrong.

3. You can share your bicycles with your friends.

4. Bicycles don't care how many other bicycles you've ridden.

5. When riding, you and your bicycle can arrive at the same time.

6. Bicycles don't care how many other bicycles you have now.

7. Bicycles don't care if you look at other bicycles.

8. Bicycles don't care if you buy bicycle magazines.

9. You'll never hear, "Suprise, you're goning to own a new bicycle" unless you go out and buy one yourself.

10. If your bicycle goes flat, you can fix it.

11. If your bicycle is too loose, you can tighten it.

12. If your bicycle gets misaligned, you don't have to discuss politics with it.

13. You don't have to be jealous of the guy who works on your bicycle.

14. If you say bad things to your bicycle, you don't have to apologize before you ride it again.

15. You can ride your bicycle as long as you want and it wont get sore.

16. You can stop riding your bicycle as soon as you want and it wont get frustrated.

17. Your parents wont remain in touch with your old bicycle after you dump it.

18. Bicycles don't insult you if you're a bad rider.

19. Your bicyle never wants a night out with other bicycles.

20. Bicycles don't care if you're late.

21. You don't have to take a shower before you ride your bicycle.

22. If your bicycle doesn't look good, you can paint it or get better parts.

23. You can ride your bicycle the first time you meet it without having to take it to dinner, see a movie, or meet its mother.

24. The only protection you need to wear when riding your bicycle is a decent helment.

25. When in mixed company, you can talk about what a great ride you had the last time you were on your bicycle.

However, you can't ride your bicycle with a bum shin!