Flinging Mud

In the spirit of the Red Sox, I also had a completely bootleg opening day for cycling. Now, it's not that I stopped during the winter. It's just that my cold weather cycling was transportation-only, not joy riding. So, with today's forecast of temperatures in the 50s and sunshine, I was excited to get out and go down by the river, where it would not be flooded anymore.

I loaded up the Jenny, who does not go out when there is snow and ice on the ground. The plan was to ride around, read a book in the sunlight, and maybe stop for coffee before meeting up with friends on the other side of town. Everything is all set and ready to go, and I realize the tires are really soft. I usually make such observations once I'm miles for home. Oh, and I have no idea where my pump is. I had to unload everything and take Starry Starry Bike, which does not have a basket and which still does not have the seat/handlebar arrangement quite to my liking anyway. I like to sit upright, not hunched forward.

Since the tires are all inflated and I needed to get out for fresh air, I was not going to be too annoyed about it. Anyway, it's got working brakes, which is more than can be said for most local bikes.

The first thing I notice is that everything is out of whack. The shifting is rough. There are three separate sounds coming from the bike that ought not be. But the brakes work and the bike can move, which is all I need for the time being. I just wish it would be a more stealthy ride.

The public path is, of course, blocked with a gate. There's enough room to walk my bike around it, but a cargo bike wouldn't fit. This is total bullshit and there are other barriers that could be put into place that would allow bicycles to go through more easily, while blocking cars. Patrolling of the Riverfront is sporadic -- heavy during the week and less so on the weekend -- which is only a concern in so far as I wanted to immediately complain about the gate to someone.


So, there is a new crop of graffiti, none of which is impressive. Really, if you're going through the trouble of making illegal "art," why not write something worth reading? Step it up guys!

My irritation with how inaccessible this awesome path is continues. The elevators to the elevated plaza were marked "closed for season." It's April, sunny, and warm. What season are they waiting for? So, I have to either go all the way around from the edges of the Riverfront path (which I do) or I have to portage my bicycle up all the friggin steps. I can't walk up half the stairs without getting winded. Those are crap options.

A large section of the path is now muddy from what the Connecticut River gifted us when it overflowed its banks. It ended up being better that I took Starry Starry Bike because the Jenny's tires probably would not have liked it. As sloppy as it was, the mud only got on my boots, thanks to my fenders.

It was fun watching people sliding around on the path. Looked like the MDC trucks had trouble with the path too. Suckers.


When I got to the Riverside Park I saw that there was a festival of fire or something on the East side of the river.
One marvels at the things that go on over there. Fires. Dirtbikes on sandbars. It's comforting to have a river in between us and that nonsense. We only have to contend with uninspired graffiti and drunks passed out on the stone benches.

Like a drifter I was born to bike alone.

When I finally abandoned the riding around in circles aimlessly, I thought I'd stop off for a late breakfast. After manhandling the quaint sidewalk cafe so that I could lock up my bike, someone came over the inform me that the new cafeteria-with-canned goods has a bike rack inside of the parking garage next door. They might want to post signs advertising that. Anyway, I sat where I could see my bike just in case some ironic young professional decided to mess with it. Next time, the bike is coming in with me. If people can bring strollers into stores, I can bring my bike. There's nothing on my bike, after all, that wails or shits itself.


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Bring It!

First off , cuz I gots a p-u-s-s-y you have to disregard all this. It clearly means that I am having a meltdown, and not that I'm a bad boy. Even if I got a pair of tits to prove it, ain't enough-- they gotta be on someone else. There's loads of precedent for this. Lindsay Lohan: meltdown. Britney Spears: meltdown. Mariah Carey: meltdown. Men don't break down. They just be playaz. Don't hate on that.

So, if you wanna ride like Charlie, if you wanna win like Charlie, you gotta have tiger blood. If you weren't born with that, ain't a thing. Substitute vodka on an empty stomach. Stop the transfusion after your face is numb.

Next what you want to do is equip your bike with lights. The idea of this is to get everyone to see who is coming at them. When they see that someone so great and winning is hurtling in their direction, they have no choice but to step aside and kneel out of respect. See the light on the bike in the picture? Ain't no way people can't see that. So, when I hear that my buddy got smacked by a van, and knowing that he shines brighter with truth than this light, all I can think is the opposition be hurling fastballs that we are going to hafta hit right out of the park.

That's right. Bicycle thug gang action. You gotta strap on the biggest fenders you got, exercise that middle finger, and get prepared mentally to cut off transit buses, GTL frat boys, and nervous suburbanites who accidentally stayed inside of city limits past sunset. You gotta be willing to ride through puddles in Bushnell Park that soak through your jeans up to your knees even with those fenders. Riding and winning like Charlie means rolling on ahead no matter how the opposition is creating barriers.

Defeat is not an option, and that's what they are trying to do when they ram into you or come inches away. They're trying to get you to throw up your hands and cry surrender. They trying to put you back behind the wheel or next to the car at the gas pump at six in the morning so that they have company, so that they can look around and still say "Hey, everyone is doing this. There's nothing wrong with my lifestyle." They want proof that the American lifestyle of overindulgence exists and that everyone is happily floating along with it. And they'll keep it up and keep it up until the law enforcement agencies or the vigilantes get to them first.

After you've slapped on some fenders, lights, and guzzled down some vodka, what you need to do is make sure your bike is a total piece of shit. This helps, especially if you are sentimental. You need to be ready to pick up your bicycle and launch it at the opposition. Let's face it. We need something stronger than the tiptoeing around, begging for scraps type of advocacy we've been getting. We need the craziest most balls-out, tits-out kind of show that we can put on because they answering to nothing else.

Asshole drivers-- consider yourselves on notice.


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Non-competitve cyclocross

I like my family and I like to ride my bike. Since the Mayor, pursuant to §2-391(D)2 of the Municipal Code, gave City employees like myself the day after Thanksgiving off, I spent lots of time involving both of those things. I rode at Case & Gay City as well as the Reservoir. I tried a new tire and decided that it was great. I also found a fancy Camelbak water bottle. Not quite as good as finding $15, but close.

I also did one of those slightly protracted expedition speed rides with walking and riding, and got shot at.

What did you do with your four days off? Did you drink the Sam Adams Cream Stout? It's very good!

Flat tire!

Moody view...

...from Kilkenney Rocks

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Bikes on Dikes

It began with what was meant as a short detour on the way home from Colt Park -- a jaunt along the paved Riverside path.

But Saturday was the first time this summer that we were not faced with disgusting humidity, 85+ temperatures, or some crazy hail-tornado-thunderstorm-Armageddon warning. Instead of turning back when the pavement ended, we kept going on the path between the Connecticut River and the flood barrier.

Every single time I have ridden past the paved part of the path, I have encountered less than optimum riding conditions -- ice, mud, and most recently, sand. Starry Starry Bike would be awesome for these rides, but for some reason, I am always finding myself here on a bike that lacks awesome knobby tires.

Still, it's quiet. As Interstatement reminded me while I was kvetching about the precarious ride, we had not seen any pesky baby carriages in some time. Nothing makes me happier than being away from screaming babies and their often smug, entitled parents, as one is wont to be subjected to in the disputed territories.

A deer jumped across the trail. We did not encounter anyone once we reached the sandy part of the path, though we could hear the whining of dirt bikes across the Connecticut River.

The path dumped us out somewhere near the highway, a dike, and a giant billboard advertising pizza, which is basically torture when there are no decent pizza joints in that neighborhood. We rode alongside the tracks for a bit before finally finding ourselves back on the pavement, cutting through Keney Park, and then heading home.

*Somewhere along this route, I believe, is where I picked up a case of poisonivy. I won't post pictures of that.
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Riding the East Coast Dirtway: Let's Go Ride a Bike Summer Games

Is it right to say that I missed the boat? Maybe if it's a hybrid boat-bicycle the idiom would make more sense.

Really, I do not know how it happened. I read Let's Go Ride a Bike religiously, which for me is more often than sporadic, sometimes with vodka involved, and no dread of hellfire. Then again, I'm not getting younger and certain pieces of information go in one eye and out the other. What makes my neglect in this instance particularly odd is that prizes (that I would want) are involved.

I noticed that the LGRAB Summer Games existed sometime in mid-June, yet did not figure out until a few days ago -- conveniently during a heat wave -- that I could still participate. Just in time for the third part (new territory), I was able to go on a little adventure that incorporated three of the challenges, and provided for a possible new one that they might include in future competitions. I promise that I'm doing this for all the right reasons, but the possibility of winning a Queen Bee pannier sweetens the deal.


On Sunday, I met the following challenges:
1. Explore new part of town by bike
2. Ride a greenway
3. Have a bicycle picnic

That's the short version.


The recent heatwave kept me inside for days on end and before that the Jenny was making some unhappy sounds (still bitter about being strapped to the front of a bus I think) as well as automatically shifting through several gears, so I had not ridden in awhile. I took the LGRAB Summer Games as the incentive to make time on Sunday to go for a picnic just off the East Coast Greenway, and to get to the ECG, Interstatement and I would travel through a section of Hartford that I'm not too familiar with. This loop would take us through Hartford, Windsor, South Windsor, Manchester, East Hartford, and then back into Hartford.

Before fun and games, I agreed to accompany Interstatement to his church in the North End of the city, as it was on the way. To be more precise, it's in the North East neighborhood, which is terribly stricken with violence. This is where Hartford gets its reputation from. I was not thrilled to be going through here, but it was early on a Sunday morning, which meant that most of the troublemakers were probably still sleeping after causing problems all night. I had not biked in this area before, so this fulfilled one challenge.

I have also never evaded a cop before.

I did not mean to, exactly. As we were traveling past the site where a police officer was shot a few nights before, a cruiser rolled up. The cop rolled down his window and began talking. I had just gotten into a good rhythm and did not feel like breaking it. About a block ahead it occurred to me that maybe I ought to stop. By the time I did and turned around, I saw that Interstatement had satisfied the officer with some answer that caused him to go on his way. In my own neighborhood, I'm not exactly among the racial/ethnic majority, but I spend a bit of time outdoors and must look like I fit in more. The experience yesterday annoyed me, but I guess it is not horribly offensive. White people, traveling in that neighborhood, are most likely there to buy drugs. (Side note: the data is a few years old now, but only 1.1% of people living in the North East neighborhood are white.) And yesterday, before my day of riding, I was definitely white. Now, I'm more of a red hue.

We did the church thing and then fielded questions from churchgoers who were surprised to see bicycles (instead of cars) being used as going-to-church-transportation. (Hey, if you want to show respect for God, stop crapping all over the planet with your SUV.) From here, we traveled through more sections of Hartford that I am not too familiar with, but which felt far less blighted and dangerous than those we passed through to arrive at the church. We went through a section of Keney Park, which I had not been through before. Keney Park is one of the largest parks in New England and I had previously only seen about one-third of it.

Eventually we landed on Windsor Avenue and started searching for the side streets that would get us to the Bissell Bridge, which would take us over the Connecticut River and along I-291.



While I have traveled over I-291 numerous times by car, I have never done this on a bicycle, nor have I seen the part of South Windsor that is still farmland. This is exactly where the bike path took us. South Windsor, a town I grew up near, is a place I associate with the worst ills of suburban culture -- strip malls and cheaply-built McMansions. Despite what the graffiti on the bridge might want us to believe, it's not threatening enough to "run this shit."



After a pleasant ride through corn fields, we cycled through an industrial section, finally winding up at where I-291 begins/ends in Manchester.

We arrived at Wickham Park dripping sweat and more than ready for our picnic lunch of wine and cheese.


A lot of parks in Connecticut do not permit alcohol, a fact I had forgotten until we arrived. Not sure on Wickham Park's policy, we planned to do a quick photo shoot, pour the wine, and then put the bottle back in one of Interstatement's cargo bike panniers.





I took photos, poured wine, set out the crackers, and was just about the open the cheese when a ranger came over. I had already evaded a cop that morning, but I have the utmost respect for park rangers, so I took a deep breath and waited for it. We learned the area we were using was actually reserved, but that there were other non-reserved areas in the park we could go to. He suggested we "chug" the wine and find another table. What? No trouble?

Since the church group of 150 or so people were supposed to show up for their tables any moment, we quickly packed the crackers and smartly chugged the wine. Just following orders.


The new picnic area actually worked out well, if not better. There was a lot of shade from trees and it was closer to the side we would be exiting from anyway. After lunch we visited the park's Aviary (or "birdiary" if, like me, you can't ever remember the word "aviary"). My photos are not as awesome as they could be since the fence was in the way.













The last stretch of the adventure would involve riding on a greenway. The East Coast Greenway is described by its website:

The East Coast Greenway is the nation's most ambitious long-distance urban trail project. By connecting existing and planned shared-use trails, a continuous, traffic-free route is being formed, serving self-powered users of all abilities and ages. 3,000 miles long, the Greenway links Calais, Maine at the Canadian border with Key West, Florida. Alternate routes will add another 2,000 miles to the ECG trail system.

This green city-to-city travel corridor was launched in 1991 when the East Coast Greenway Alliance formed to make this vision a reality. The East Coast Greenway will be entirely on public right-of-way, incorporating waterfront esplanades, park paths, abandoned railroad corridors, canal towpaths, and pathways along highway corridors.

I had previously ridden on most of the section planned for that day, but it was when I rode less frequently; thus, I was looking forward to conquering the hills that used to be awful for me. No such luck. I rode it, but due to the American Recovery and Reinvestment Act the pavement was all dug up! Almost the entire section was dirt. Not hardpacked dirt, or even gravel, but loose dirt which made riding even on flat surfaces a challenge I was not expecting. We had to keep stopping because my thighs were burning. Little did I know, I was also getting wicked sunburn in spite of having diligently applied SPF45 sunblock that morning.



By the time we hit the street section of the ECG, I was happy to ride in traffic because it meant a hard surface. Next time, I am bringing more water and the bottle of sunblock.
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First Fairy Ride of the Year: Ride to PRIDE

My Jenny would have been the perfect conversation starter if that's what I was looking for at this year's PRIDE. She got a lot of lustful looks, nearly straddled by an exuberant broadcast media icon of the queer world, and photographed by one of those "Page Six" type publications. Since Jenny's owner is as much of an attention whore as she is, this was welcome, harmless fun.

It was also another chance to feel smug. There were not many other people who bothered to walk or bike to the park. Not having to deal with finding parking when thousands of people are downtown? Awesome.







This guy was riding with a kid on his lap. I didn't want to get him in trouble by taking a picture of his face. People can overreact.

My basket makes hauling freebies so easy. Notice the fancy condoms that were given away. Why be limited to a mere handful of free condoms when there is a whole basket that can be filled with them?


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