Cycling as a cure-all

Date: March 28
Mileage: 26.0
March mileage: 327.2
Temperature upon departure: 41

I almost feel guilty for heading out today, but it had to be done. It was sunny, 40 degrees (thems T-shirt temps!), and I needed to vent stress buildup from a frustrating day at work. Something was going to have to give, and that something was my bum knee. So, with a noticeable gimp in my gait, I saddled up Roadie and headed out for more than an hour (Ok, Ok ... It was probably closer to two hours than one. I like to think I'm fast on Roadie, but I have to be reasonable.) It was a great ride - breathing hard into the stiff salt breeze, then riding its tailwind to tear-inducing speeds on the way back. And by the end of the ride, my knee was feeling light and limber (despite the fact it's still bleeding a little. I probably should have gotten the thing stiched.) How much will I pay for my ride tomorrow? Whatever stiffness returns, it was worth it.

As I rode along East End Road today, I thought of a blog post that CycleDog recently talked about. Hip Suburban White Guy wrote a hilarious post about bicycles versus cars. It's an age-old debate that no one will ever win, because no one on either side is likely to give - even a little. HSWG's view can be summed up in this colorful quote (edits mine): "But WHY (in the world) should I have to yield a road meant for cars to some (wonderful person) on a bicycle when there is a bicycle path damn near within arms reach of this inconsiderate (lovable rider)?"

HSWG's uninformed rant (he admitted to as much) attracted the venomous opposition of a cycle commuter in Minnesota, who contradicts HSWG's points with valid, logical counterpoints. However, Karl, the bicycle commuter, commits the ultimate debate faux pas by assuming that because HSWG rips on cyclists, drives an SUV and drinks beer, he must be a conservative - and calls him as much. If you read any more if HSWG's blog, you'll see that he's anything but.

This is where the cars versus cyclists debate always falls apart. HSWG assumes that we cyclists are skinny, snobby, spandex-clad geeks who are oblivious to the movements of the outside world. Karl contradicts this stereotype with more stereotypes about HSWG being overweight, boorish and selfish (these things may be true, but you can't garner as much from a single post.) The story is always the same from here - each party walks away feeling the other is ignorant for making blanket assumptions, and in the end, no one's point gets through. This isn't what starts wars, but it is what makes them endless.

Of course I side with Karl. Bicycles, for all purposes, are vehicles. They are Slow Moving Vehicles, like a tractor or an Amish buggy. As vehicles, they have as much legal access to all roads, save certain Interstates, as any gas-guzzling SUV. There's nothing HSWG can do about that. However, HSWG has every right to be annoyed by them. As long as he's not advocating the legalizing of target practice on cyclists, he's entitled to his point of view. I think about the things that really annoy me - like people who let their dogs run loose in their unfenced front yards. If I were as funny or as volatile as HSWG, I might post a rambling rant about the evils of loose dogs.

That doesn't necessarily make me a dog hater. I'd resent being called one. And I probably wouldn't listen as well to any points made after that name-calling. I might even lash back in defense.

HSWG ends his argument with this gem: "But when I come around a corner at the posted speed limit, don't expect me to swerve into an opposing lane of traffic or slam on my brakes and get rear-ended just to avoid adding yet another decorative adornment to my gas-guzzling SUV grill."
As I said, endless wars.

Can't we all just get along?

I hurt

This is the skiing picture from the Saturday post I never did, back when I finally became comfortable in my stride. Back when I had a perfect run atop soft, gliding snow. Back before I felt like I had a run-in with the angry side of a truck.

Yesterday's collision with the road made scrambled eggs of some important muscles - muscles I use to walk, to sit, to sleep. So every movement today has been slow, deliberate, ginger to the point of paranoia. That's impact. You never feel it until the next day. I've had some spectacular snowboarding spills. I've been in minor car accidents. But nothing quite delivers a full-body beating like kissing pavement.

And I thought Roadie was in need of a tuneup. Some have asked me why I call my "other" bike Roadie when it isn't a road bike in the classic sense of the name. It's an IBEX Corrida, about two years old - all stock components because - really - I'm not that big of a performance nut. I bought my first Corrida in 2002 for the sole purpose of bicycle touring. It seemed like an ideal setup - light but strong, flat handlebars for riding comfort over the long haul, triple chainring. Not a speed machine by any means. But I put more than 6,000 miles on my first one and by 2004 had the president of IBEX e-mailing me to ask if I wanted a new one in exchange for writing some ad copy for their site (which, incidently, remains on www.ibexbikes.com to this day ... along with the a picture of me on my first tour (upper right). The 2002 sold on eBay for nearly as much as I paid for it. The 2004 is still running on all its original stuff - including tires - despite the fact that I've put somewhere between 2,000 and 3,000 miles on it. These bikes are tanks ... and light ones at that. I always highly recommend the Corrida to tourists and commuters. But that's enough of that. It even hurts to type. Time to go back to sulking in my stiffness.

Signs of Spring

Date: March 26
Mileage: 54.0
March mileage: 301.2
Temperature upon departure: 38

Free Roadie: Can you imagine the frustration of sitting in a corner all winter long, watching the mountain bike go out day after day, knowing you'll only get a few spins when "Arrested Development" is on the TV. Then, one day, even that goes off the air. And you watch the snow piling up outside, thinking you may never, ever have relevance again. It's been a long winter for roadie. The snow may still be high. The chill still has its bite. But March is nearly over, so it seemed high time to drag roadie outside for a real ride.

Watching the tide: "It's like getting behind the wheel of a BMW after spending a winter driving a truck," Geoff said. Road bikes are so light and smooth. We were coasting ... flying ... effortless speed. It gave us a lot more time to look around. Taking in swift gulps of salt-flavored air, I had one of those "Oh, yeah, I live by the sea" moments. I often forget this fact, but it tickles my desert-dweller self every time I remember.

Ferry returns: And with it those people from faraway corners of Alaska and the Pacific Northwest, who bring a satisfying sense of renewal, change, and new dreams of profiting off tourists. I've always wanted to set up a booth by a pier and draw grotesquely exaggerated charactures of celebrities.

New neighbors: There are some who are willing to brave these still below-freezing nights to stake a good spot on the Spit. As temperatures warm up, many will follow. They'll amass atop the tide-worn pebbles with their tents and folding chairs and Coleman stoves. Their's is a carefree civilization, a simple sort of life, a utopia. Non-Alaskans might call it a shanty town. I lived in this veritable tent city for a week one night - July 4, 2003. It's amazing I ever came back to Homer.

Line Outside the Theatre: Judging by the sheer numbers of actors roaming the streets, passing out fliers, and calling me on the phone - Homer often feels like a chunk of Hollywood broke off the mainland and floated north. They put on more community productions than the title character in "Waiting for Guffman." But I don't even think the Pier One Theatre is open yet. These eagles are really jumping the gun.

First Road Rash: While staring dreamily at another cluster of eagles gathered on the fishing hole ice floes, I broke the cardinal rule of roadie etiquette. That is, if you must insist on tailgating another cyclist (roadies get away with this by calling it "drafting"), do try not to hit them. I knew I had forgotten my manners as I heard that awful, split-second scrape indicating a direct hit. But all I could think about, as I slammed into bare, dry pavement at 15+ mph, is how wonderfully merciful snow can be, and what a bitter grudge the road can hold.

Sorry to end my photo essay with such a graphic picture. I tore up my knee, my hip, and my favorite pair of cycling pants. I dislodged a spoke, and I still had 10 miles and the 1,200-foot climb left to ride before I could limp home and try to pick the gravel out (gaaa-oowwwww). Roadie might be grateful for these signs of spring. I could probably use some more snow.