On Le Tour

While the dark cloud of doping has hung (rightly) over the Tour de France in recent history, the Tour continues to amaze me.  Perhaps I employ a suspension of disbelief, perhaps I'm an optimist, perhaps I don't care about doping, or perhaps - and worst of all - I condone it.  Maybe all the riders dope, maybe none of them do.  Do I wish they didn't?  Of course.  But am I a realist that the technology of performance enhancement will always be ahead of the technology to ferret it out?  Absolutely.  I wish I could take the high road, boycott the tour until it was somehow clear that all athletes were "clean".  Or maybe it would just be better to do as Rick Reilly once wrote (in an article I'd link to here if I could find it on the web) and just allow them all to dope.  But, neither of those scenarios will likely ever happen.  So instead I chose to admire the Tour for what it was intended to be - a heroic feat of athleticism and competition played out over three grueling weeks over some of the toughest terrain around.  The sheer length of the Tour is impressive.  Three weeks!  The Olympics don't even last that long (and Olympic athletes would never dream of competing every day for that period of time!).  The terrain is surreal - including astounding climbs (some of which are so steep they're considered "beyond category") and heart-pounding descents.  The terrain of this year's tour was so dramatic and difficult that some teams and riders claimed Tour organizers had begun to choose the most dangerous route rather than simply a challenging one.  The commercials on Versus seemed to back that up as they promoted Tour coverage by highlighting crashes from previous stages.  And yes, the crashes did draw me in.  They were amazing, dramatic and thrilling.  In one day on the 9th stage we watched as a Tour favorite was sent careening down an embankment, emerging with a broken thighbone.  Two other riders were thrown off the road by a car and into a barbed wire fence, one of whom rode the rest of the stage covered in bloody bandages.  But the drama extended beyond the crashes to a Frenchman who led the tour for 9 days to the cheers of his countrymen and a Yellow Jersey winner that was decided on the final stage in an epic time trial.  It was a tour that started with no clear favorite and finished with three riders - two of whom were brothers - at the top of their game.

And during the tour I couldn't help but channel that energy on my own rides.  I spent many more days then usual doing early rides on Red Rocket (my road bike and Specialized sister of Blue Beauty).  In part this was due to the incredible DC heat, which made riding home uncomfortable at best and dangerous at worst, but in part it was out of some desire to be a part of the Tour in my own small way.  My frequent location for weekday morning rides is Hains Point, a great loop of East Potomac park just slightly under 4mi long.  It's a great place to sneak in a 20mi ride before the start of the work day without annoyances of red lights or dangers of cars and trucks.  It also provides a boost of energy from the fellow riders on the route.  Some are significantly faster than my 20mph speed but I also get to pass a good amount of riders as well.  The other day I even passed a rider with two police escorts.  I still haven't been able to figure out who it was.  Rarely though, do I see another female rider.  And that, dear readers, is your teaser for my next post...

On Bonking

It was on my ride home Monday when I bonked.  I was heading up the last hill in my neighborhood and suddenly it felt like all the energy had been sucked from my body.  My legs were jello, my lungs were on fire.  There was no good reason for this. I had eaten lunch, had water, and it wasn't terribly hot out.  But, for whatever reason, some combination of internal and external factors conspired against me and I BONKED.  So, I cranked my gears all the way down and made it up the hill in what I can only describe as a "trudging" manner (if one could "trudge" on two wheels). 

Bonking is also the best way I can describe what has happened to this blog in the last few weeks.  I bonked.  I could blame a multitude of external factors - massive heat and humidity, work, bike repairs, vacation - but ultimately it was likely some unidentified internal factor that was the true culprit.  I've been enjoying writing these pieces and constantly narrate future posts in my head during my rides but somehow every day when i got home I failed yet again to pick up my computer and write.  But, just like my Tuesday morning ride following Monday's bonk, I've recovered from my blogging bonk.

On Muscles, Not Motors

A little shout-out here to my favorite bike shop in Montpelier, VT: Onion River Sports.  They were a large part of my cycling life when I lived in Vermont.  They called the ambulance after my first big crash five years ago and repaired the damage to my bike.  Four years later they helped me retrofit a bike rack to my car the day before I moved and then helped me secure the straps on my two beloved bikes, which survived the 750 mile journey south without budging.  The store's moto is "muscles not motors" and it is one I frequently repeat to myself when on the road.  
It seems the idea of a muscle-powered vehicle is something which many people aren't entirely comfortable with.  Most days when I get home from work, one of our neighbors is sitting on the front patio reading.  He is a sweet older gentleman who sometimes holds the door for me and frequently remarks "you need a motor on that thing".  And while his comment is always well-intentioned and delivered with a smile, it bugs me.  No, I do not need a motor on my bike, thankyouverymuch.  I like it specifically for it's lack of motor.  I like that I don't have to pay money to make it run nor is it emitting toxins into the air.  But what I really like is the fact that it takes the strength of my legs and the energy from my lungs to propel me forward (as well as the occasional downward sloping hill).  I'm not sitting back as a spectator in my transportation, I'm an active participant.  I like that my commute makes me legs stronger and more defined because of my muscle-powered bike versus my motor-powered option.  I know it's not for everyone, but I prefer my muscles, not motors.

On Being "Derailleud"

Last week my rear derailleur failed me as I was biking home.  It's been acting a little funky on the 3rd and 4th gears for a couple of weeks now but I've been ignoring it, which is no small feat given those are the rear gears I use most frequently on my commute.  But this time, as I clicked down from 4th to 2nd to head uphill, the chain didn't quite catch properly.  It would catch and then drop, catch and drop so I was unable to get a full revolution and ended up having to bail on the hill.  I got going again, shifted down to first then back up through to 4th (which nearly killed me on that hill) and back down to 2nd.  It acted up again on the next hill but not as drastically.  I'm sure the derailleur is just slightly misalligned but it doesn't appear to be something I can fix myself.  So, I'll likely bike to work tomorrow (or whenever I bike to work next - I've been home sick for two days and am beginning to go stir crazy) and stop at my local bike shop on the way home.  Hopefully they can fix it quickly and I won't have to be without Blue Beauty for very long.

On My Route

Just one month ago I made a life changing decision.  I moved in with my boyfriend.  In fact, this was not so much the life changing decision everyone told me it would be but it was a commute-changing decision.  Given he was already a home owner with room for me, my shoes and my fluffy little cat, the decision to cohabitate in his condo was a relatively simple one.  This decision did alter my commute from a one mile trip across Capitol Hill to a seven mile journey through the city.  Public transportation would mean a bus and two lines on the metro at a cost of about $5 per day.  Driving would mean about 45 minutes each way sitting in traffic with other short tempered commuters expending gas and incurring wear and tear on my car at a likely cost of several years off my life.  Biking quickly became the best possible option.

Above is the aforementioned fluffy little cat.  Those are not the aforementioned shoes.

We live in Glover Park not far from the Georgetown line and I work – as previously mentioned – on Capitol Hill. While one might expect “The Hill” to be the hilly part of my journey, it is in fact Georgetown that tests my quads and hamstrings each day.  In the morning I zip through the quiet streets of Georgetown, frequently gripping my brakes to avoid careening into oncoming traffic at breakneck speeds.  Once I hit Rock Creek Park the trail is narrow and I join a roving peloton of other DC bike commuters.  It can be a little squirrely across Virginia Ave where cars are not as happy to “share the road” with bi-wheeled vehicles.  But then I ride past the White House, cross in front of the Washington Monument and hit my favorite stretch of road – Jefferson Drive.  Jefferson is a quiet, flat street that runs along the National Mall with only a few lights.  It is the perfect place for "opening it up" and racing my fellow bikers.  I love passing people on that road.  Sometimes I feel guilty passing people who don't know I'm racing them.  But usually I just enjoy smoking my unknowing competition.

The way home is essentially the same.  The significant difference is that those hills which on the way to work had me gripping my brakes are instead the test of my quads and hamstrings.  On those first few rides home I had to crank my gears all the way down.  Twice.  The gears were so low on the long hill up from Georgetown that when forced to stop I could hardly get going again because the pedals would just spin.  But, after a month of riding this route my legs are stronger and I can now keep my front chain ring on the highest gear the whole way home.

A shot I took earlier this week of the Washington Monument which I pass on my route.

On Blogging

I’ve always been a bit skeptical of blogs.  Anyone can write one – which is great as well as ridiculous.  I have no training or actual skill that gives me the right to send my thoughts out into the world.  And I’m a terrible speller.  I think one should be required to have spelling skills above a third grade level when writing for the public.  But, in a world of spell-check and something called a "blogosphere", it seems that anything goes.  Access to a computer and internet is really all one needs.  But just because it's written doesn't mean it will be read (let alone enjoyed).  Embarking on this blogging journey I am left worndering if anyone besides my mother and boyfriend will bother reading these posts.  But, perhaps others who know me, share my city or even my mode of transport will identify with various aspects of what I share (in frustration, amusement and general wonderment) on in these pages.  And if I’ve already bored you, I apologize and promise that you never have to waste five minutes of your time here again.

On the Title

First and foremost, I suppose I should explain the title of this blog.  Blue Beauty, as you may have guessed, is the name of my bike.  It’s nothing particularly fancy – a (blue) Specialized Globe – but I love it nonetheless.  It’s comfortable, reliable, and sturdy.  My amazing Specialized Allez Elite road bike is my first love but I am quickly growing to love Blue Beauty too.  When I first bought her (yes, I do assign gender to my bikes but before you judge this as sexist, know that I think of my bikes as ass kicking ladies so I don’t think my feminist credentials should be rescinded for such an assignment) I tried calling her Blue Bullet, a compliment to my red road bike which I instantly named Red Rocket.  But “Bullet” just didn’t fit.  She was not, in fact, a bullet.  Beauty, however, met my affinity for alliteration (get it?) while more accurately describing the bike.  And she is, in fact a beauty (particularly when you also take into account her accessories - but those will be explained in a later posting). 
As for the “ups and downs” part, the double entendre is indeed intended.  I love biking to work.  It is a perfect excuse to be on my bike, it’s my daily exercise, it’s faster than driving and it’s a stress relief.  The environmental implications are a nice added bonus!  But there are parts of my commute – rude drivers, pedestrians and other bikers as well as potholes, hail storms and bus exhaust – that are less enjoyable.  So those are the figurative “ups and downs”.  The literal “ups and downs” are the hills that make up my ride from Glover Park to Capitol Hill. It is really hilly!