Getting a Real Sport

So here it is November, and I look to see that I have posted only three times this year! It is not that it has been a slow year in the bike dork's cycling world. It may have more to do with the procrastinating perfectionist in me. If I am going to post, it must be epic, or at least worth reading. This means pictures and links like those other "big name" bike bloggers use. For me the king of snarky and often insightful bike blogging is Bike Snob NYC. He writes a long and funny post five days a week with videos and links and quizzes and pictures sent in by readers.

Bike Snob uses the clever device of recurring themes and characters on his blog. One of the characters he features is "The Lone Wolf". While The snob lives in Brooklyn, The Lone Wolf seems to live or at least spend a good amount of time here in Los Angeles.

A few months back I was at the Manhattan Beach Grand Prix, where I met The Lone Wolf in person. We spoke, I took a few pictures, and relayed my encounter to Bike Snob NYC in an e-mail. The next day I got a reply and a request to use my e-mail and pictures on his site. I was honored that he posted the whole thing.

So that was cool. Almost as cool as getting a new bike… That is right, the Bike Dork went big and bought a brand new bicycle.

Over the last couple of years my cycling experience has been confined to commuting 30 miles a day on an old steel single speed. I have built it up and modified over time starting with with a crappy old ten speed, stripping it down to a fixie, then adding stuff trying various parts, straps, racks, baskets fenders, what ever to make the commute a better experience. This bike has become a reflection of my true dorkyness.

While this bike works well on the flat route from Redondo Beach to Santa Monica, it is not much fun to take on more varied terrain. I enjoy the challenge of using a single speed bike on hills, but that gets old fast. I had the urge to branch out, go farther, faster, exploring new routes learning to ride with others.

Also I have been following professional road racing, watching the spring classics, the Giro, the TDF, the Vuelta, all the lesser tours that I could find, and all my heros have nice new road bikes. My plan was to get an old mid 80's vintage road bike. One that was a great bike when it was new, if well cared for would still be a fine bike for group rides and anything I would be up for. Then I got an unexpected bonus from work.

After some research and trying a few bikes, I ordered a Giant TCR Composite from the guys over at Beach City Cycles. Brian and Chris totally hooked me up and I would recommend them to anyone. While I will say that this is a great bike and I totally enjoy riding it, I will save a detailed review for a later post.

What I do want to mention is how this bike has transformed what kind of rider I am. As I have often written I am not an athlete. While I enjoy watching sports and following them as a fan, I have never wanted to be that guy. So it came as a bit of a shock to find out that I am jock. It happened on the way home from work shortly after getting the new bike. I was spinning down 11th Street as a guy hanging out the window of a crappy little Hyundai blurted some expletives at me. I caught up to them at the next stop sign and asked for clarification. The young man smoking a cigarette said "Get a real sport!" I was so taken aback, all I could muster was, "Sport? I'm just going home from work.". They pulled away and I was left puzzled. "Sport… hmm. That's it, I am now a practitioner of a sport. At a glance I could be one of those guys out there cycling just as some sort of athletic thing to do or maybe I am training for a race or some big century ride! Who would have thought. When I started commuting to work by bike, I made every effort to not look like some roadie dork. "Lycra shorts and alien brain helmets, that is so not me…" Now look at me,

Here I am after finishing my first century ride: The San Luis Obispo Gran Fondo.
What a dork!

Measuring Up

While there are many bike computers, power meters, and smart phone apps available for the cyclist, I do not really need any special device to tell me how slow I am on a bike. I am slow. For example the other day on the way home from work, I had been pushing hard into a headwind through Marina Del Rey and across the causeway. When it is windy, and it usually is at this time of year, I like to go kind of hard just to get it the westward sections of the ride over with. Once I turn South on the bike path the wind is most often out of the west north west and gives a little push home.



Anyhow I was taking it easy after a bit exertion on the causeway when a rider passed me at a good clip. He nodded a greeting and slipped by. Then I heard another rider behind me. It was my friend The Blue Rider. We see each other from time to time and sometimes he will slow down and we talk bikes and life and work. He smiled and asked "Shall we follow?" Meaning of course, catching the first guy and giving him a friendly race. "Sure, I'll try." With that we were off. Well actually, my friend The Blue Rider was off. He quickly caught "Rider A" on the incline to the parking lot and passed him. I however, was still humping it up the hill. Turning on to the straightaway along the parking lot, I could see them already at the other end. No way. While rider A had what looked like a proper modern multi-geared bike, The Blue Rider is still sporting a steel single speed, much like what I push along on. No excuses, I am not fast.

To prove this point I recently purchased the "Cyclemeter" app from Abvio LLC for my "smart phone". I have never had a bike computer or a speedometer before. In the past I have tried to gauge my speed by counting my pedal strokes per minute and using one of the online calculators to figure out my speed. This works well on a single speed. It gives you an idea of what your average speed might be at a comfortable cadence. Really that is fine for me. However, the one thing I had always wondered was the exact distance I have been going. There is the "Map My Ride" site that allows you to draw out a route, but it is a little funky and sometime it wants to put you on the next street over or not really finding the bike path. For over two years I have been wondering and saying it is about 15 miles.



According to the "Cyclemeter" app, it is about 15 miles, 15.35 to be more exact. For $4.99 Cyclemeter measures and calculates quite a bit of data. Some of it seems more accurate and interesting than others. For example sometimes the elevation jumps wildly dropping me below sea level or up 100 vertical feat. This can be seen in the graph mode that displays the peaks and valleys of your speed and elevation over the course of your ride. Another mode gives splits for each mile. with average speed, top speed, calories burned, and overall time. Since it has no way of measuring head wind, the calories burned must be a ballpark figure. I can tell you that you will be burning a lot more fuel riding at 15 mph into a 15 mph wind, than going 16 mph with a tailwind. There is also a map function that shows your route with markers at each mile. All cool stuff. The kind of stuff bike dorks like.



The first time you use the app, you need to put it in stop watch mode and name the route you are about to set out on. This route is then stored and each time you ride that route again, you can select it and the Cyclemeter calculates and compares your performance. This is cool as well. One of the settings is "stop detection" This is great for commuting, it does not include stops like traffic lights, helping folks with flat tires, or paramilitary encounters into your speed average. This give you a more accurate account of average riding speed while still calculating your overall time.



There are a number of features I have never used on this app. It can post your stats as e-mails, on Facebook, and Twitter. I pledge now to never annoy my "friends" with a daily account of my ride. That is exactly what is wrong with FB... "got up this morning and trimmed my cuticles"... I don't want to know. No one wants to know how much I suck.

It supposedly has internal voices that will tell you how slow you are going. I think you put in headphones for that. I do not ride with anything in my ears and my own internal voice tells me I suck anyway. The other thing is I mostly keep my phone in my bag so I have no idea what this app looks like while riding. I think it has a live speedometer. I'll have to look sometime.

So here it is, my first review as a blogger: The "Cyclemeter" for $4.99 it does a lot of stuff. I personally don't care to use it very often. I don't like having to measure up all of the time. After all I am just riding to work. However it can record data showing how equipment changes, can effect your ride. Recently I was able to measure the difference on switching over to a clipless pedal system. I t seems I am able to ride an average 2 mph faster with SPD pedals and shoes. I guess measuring up makes the Bike Dork happy after all.

Breaking the Law

Cycling brings me great joy. It also offers many challenges. Of course there are the obvious physical challenges: faster, smoother, into the wind, at night, in traffic, in the rain, yes it does rain a few times a year in Southern California. There are however other challenges. For me it has come down to the challenge of being humble. I am not humbled by this simple contraption of conveyance; rather it seems I am emboldened to a state of lawless abandon, or at least this is what I have come to find out.

Nothing says "I am the most important thing going on here." like disregard for our basic public safety laws. There is of course the typical cyclist's approach to traffic signage. I for one err on the cautious side. I see many fellow riders glide blithely through intersections without so much as a look either way, never mind the stop signs. On my regular ride in to work there are places I have learned to stop; others where a judicious look around has been enough for safe passage. I do not think it is cool to roll stop signs, though I do with regularity: law breaker. All of us in our cars, have gone over the speed limit, made an illegal u-turn. I have watched my local police roll the stop sign at the end of my block in order to get to the coffee shop at the bottom of the hill. So maybe this lawlessness is not unique to cycling. Perhaps there is an acceptable level of lawlessness that will not tip the balance too far.

I rarely see the police on my ride to work. A good eight miles of it is on a "bikes only" bike path and "the man" rarely shows. When he does, it's never good. For example one morning a couple years back, I got to the bridge connecting Playa Del Rey to the causeway to Marina Del Rey where a Sheriff's deputy was blocking the way with his car. "Crime scene. We found a body, you can't go through." "A dead body I asked?" "Uhhu…" "If it's dead already what's the big deal, I gotta get to work." The wise guy (me) says turning back to face the only other way across Ballona Creek: the dreaded shoulder-less Culver Boulevard, to Lincoln. Not nice, even in broad daylight. Bleary eyed morning commuters texting and applying eye makeup in their carbon fired velo-crushers at 40 to 60 mph is not the kind of traffic I am comfortable with.

A few months back, on my ride home it was dark and cold as I pushed west down Fiji Way in Marina Del Rey. It ends with a traffic circle and the bike path leads out to Ballona Creek joining the path to and from Culver City. At this point I turn West towards the causeway and the bridge to Playa Del Rey and points south. Just before the causeway proper there is a boathouse used by crew teams and sailing clubs from local universities. When they are practicing they sometimes block the path as they carry their boats and oars, and there are a few parking spots and sometimes they are coming and going and milling about. As I came up to the boathouse, this seemed to be just such a night. I dropped my speed and maneuvered through what seemed to me to be an unusually large crowd. "Perhaps a meet of some sort…" Then I noticed a Sheriff's car partially blocking the entry to the causeway proper. The causeway runs east / west for about three tenths of a mile between Ballona Creek (a branch of the LA River) and the inlet to Marina Del Rey Harbor. It's one car lane wide asphalt and completely unlit at night.

So here is where I made a series of some of the stupidest decisions in my adult life. On seeing the Sheriff's department's car, I noted that I could slip right by it onto the causeway and did so as quickly as thinking of it. Out of the corner of my eye I saw what was probably the deputy, distracted, talking to someone. Once on the causeway I realized what I had done, but going back to get yelled at and sent out to Culver Boulevard did not seem to be a good idea at the time.

Once on the causeway I noticed the police helicopter overhead and the police boat up by the bridge. It was totally dark. No moon, just pitch black and there was something going on up ahead at the bridge, but I could not see what. I had only a small "be seen" type headlight on my bike. I thought "oh crap, I am in some trouble now!" I rode faster, fear took hold and suddenly I was in flight from the law. Somehow all I could envision was tearing past whatever was going down at the bridge as fast as possible and disappearing into the night. I turned off my light, stood on my pedals and went as hard as I could.

The causeway meets the bridge at a ninety degree angle. Approaching It, I was hauling and in the dark, barely made out the emergency vehicles and officers who were as surprised as I was at finding each other in this situation. "Hey, Hey, whoa where are you going?" An officer jumped in front of me, grabbing at my handle bars. I swerved, missed him jumped the curb off the bridge onto the terra ferma of Playa Del Rey and skidded to a stop in front of five or six irate LA cops. I was so busted.

Something physiological happens to you when you are in a state of exertion. Maybe it is that fight or flight adrenalin rush that you hear about. When you are riding you are already pumped, ready for action looking out for trouble, perhaps there are chemicals released by the body that make you more aggressive, ready to race, ready to protect yourself from danger. Anyhow as I sat on the curb with my hands cuffed firmly behind my back, I had a chance to take a deep breath and realize how stupid I can be. "What the hell were you thinking?" was the question the cops asked. It was then that I noticed the emergency trucks belonged to LA SWAT. While the officers dealing with me were regular cops, there were also guys in full paramilitary gear, bullet proof everything, and crazy automatic gas grenade launchers, and sniper rifles with night-vision scopes walking around. "Oh crap, what a total idiot I am. Not only am I another jerk these guys have to deal with, I could have been shot!" "You know you could have been shot!" They repeated. "What's going on here?" I asked. "Did a cop get shot or something? This is crazy." "Can't tell you." the officer stiffened.

Now I had never been in a situation like this; my only other experience with cops as an adult being the occasional traffic stop… be polite, yes sir, no sir, absolutely sir, have a nice day sir. Sitting on the curb in hand cuffs is a very humbling experience. I am not some kid, I am old, old enough to know better. People from the neighborhood are out, they see you, and you are that guy in hand cuffs. The bad guy, the unlucky fool, the lawbreaker, Johnny Too Bad. After a while one of the cops started chatting about cycling, asking about my ride, my route, wasn't I cold… Anyway, I ended up being a pain in the ass for them as I was another bunch of forms and paperwork that would need to be filled out. I was un-cuffed and given a citation for failure to stop for an officer and crossing into a crime scene. These are serious charges, I was totally mortified by how dumb I had been.

The next morning on the way into work, the only sign of the previous night's action at the bridge was a few scraps of police tape fluttering in the bright morning. I stopped and tore off a strip, rolled it up into my pocket… some kind of reminder to not be an idiot. I checked the local news sites and found out a man with a gun had passed out drunk on the jetty that extends west of the bridge and causeway. LAPD had responded big.

It took several weeks for me to enjoy my ride again. I felt ashamed for being stupid and getting caught at it. A month later, I went for my day in court. I waited in line with others like myself who had somehow ended up on the wrong side of the law. When it was my turn at the clerk's window I handed over my citation and ID, ready to face the judge, ready to tell what I have told you here. She punched the numbers into her computer. "Your case has been rejected! Go to the fourth floor, City Attorney's office." There, I found out "rejected" is a good thing - no judge, no fine, free to go just keep this piece of paper and here is a wallet size one to carry because sometimes these things stick in the computer.

Lately I have been going hard, five days a week. Pushing myself trying to learn to pedal more smoothly and efficiently. Going hard into the wind on the causeway. Summertime it stays light late and blows cool out of the west northwest almost every evening. Smile, enjoy, be humble, pass with a wide berth, try not to judge others, just be me: a dork.

A Case For Baskets

First off I must apologize for abandoning this blog for so long. Perhaps we can call it a summer break. Mimi and I did even take a break to celebrate our 20th anniversary with a trip to San Francisco.

Now break-time is over and it is back to work.

Next or second off I must say thanks to Bike Snob NYC for putting my entry to his "Cockie" of the year contest and a link to my "Radio Bikes" story on his blog. I was so excited. I tried to explain it to my coworkers and all they could do was shake their heads and mutter something about me being a dork under their breath. So I am feeling very famous.

Thirdly and where I am at now is the first anniversary and completion of the "Sonic Flyer".

That is right my red bike I ride to work everyday is now (in it's phoenix like rise from the ashes of crappy old tenspeed-dom) a year old. To celebrate I finally had the new headset I bought a few months back installed by my friends at my LBS. The headset is to me one of the most boring parts on a bike so I was in no hurry to get put on. I purchased it in a moment of panic when my old headset was out of adjustment and I thought "oh that's it, It's done for." While the old headset was kind of rusty and one of the spacers was a now unused cable-stop, it worked fine, so my new one is really me succumbing to the great American consumer mentality. Someone has to keep us afloat. Also it looks nice.

What does not look nice is the basket I put on the front of my bike. Yes I have gone all Rivendel and zipp-tied a big basket to an old aluminum rack on the front of my bike.

The Bike Snob chides basket users for their smugness, and he is right. my smugness quotient has gone right through the roof. It is so uncool yet so functional.

The extra weight in front is spooky at first but once you get used to it, the ride seems smoother. Then when I get to the store on the way home, I can take on two grocery bags. Of course I try to have a reusable bag in my kit. I mean what bike dork is going to be caught in line at Whole Foods with out a reusable bag!

Ride to Work / Work to Ride

So it was Bike to Work Week. And I celebrated by riding to work for a change. Actually it rained on Monday and Tuesday. That was ok. I braved the mighty Southern California storm, getting moist on the front side of my body while the back remand fairly dry - not quite sure how that works but it was a bit wet on those days.

Thursday dawned with all of the promise we come to expect from the greatest state in the the Union. I was feeling rather flushed with the prospect of the culmination of Ride Your Bike to Work Week at hand. To continue this story we need to rewind a few days to last Thursday, when I noticed my front tire was running a bit low. I pumped it up on the way home, but found it to be almost flat in the morning. I have been rolling on 23mm "Specialized Armadillo Technology" tires and had not had single flat since I put them on the bike eight months ago. That is great and I think they are excellent tires. The down side with these tires is they wear out after a few thousand miles and my rear tire was showing the red casing all down the middle. I was thinking, yeah I will take care of that later. It turned out that my leak was due to a faulty valve on the tube. I put on my spare tube, and that was that. Flash forward to Sunday and I am riding over to meet my beautiful wife Mimi at a "Healthy Lifestyles Festival" in Manhattan Beach when I hear cathuckity thuckity thuckity from my rear wheel. This is what i found:

So of course I had used my spare tube two day earlier and had not made it to the bike shop for another. I walked my bike over to my LBS, got one tube (why only one? just a dork I guess) and put it on.

Flash forward to this Thursday, Bike to Work Thursday. My smugness quotient was peaking as I packed my work clothes and whatever into my bottomless Ortlieb pannier. I set out as usual and as I reached what is just about the half way point on the ride, I felt a strange lumpa lumpa feeling from the rear wheel. So there I am at Dockwieler Beach, not far from the stinking RV camp with the jets going overhead, about as far from a bike shop or anything as I ever am as ride to work. The bike dork with his bottomless bag of tricks should have what it takes for this situation. He is a seasoned commuter. He knows better than to ride without a spare tube, or at least a patch kit, tools and a pump. Oops.

So here it is: you might recall few months back I stopped to help another cyclist with a flat only to find my tube of glue totally useless. Since my Armadillo tires seemed so invincible I had not bothered to get more glue. Result: no tube, no patch. 23mm tires require a lot of pressure at least 100 psi. if you get a puncture the air goes out quick. There was still a little air left so I tried my crappy $12 Performance Cycle pump. The nozzle fell apart rendering it useless. At this moment I get a text from Mimi saying "It's bike to work day" Texted back my situation. "Do I need a ride?" "No"

I started walking. I enjoy walking, but riding is better. I walked to Playa Del Rey. I figured I would walk to the bike shop on Lincoln in Marina Del Rey a few miles and then I would only be a little late for work. Passing through the area where some folks park to use the beach, or fish off the bridge, or ride the bike path; a fellow sitting in his car called out "Hey mon what happened to your bike?". I looked over at a guy sitting in his car with cycling gear, some sort of rejuvenating beverage concoction in a tupperware container in hand and dreads. He was all sweaty. "I flatted" "Here mon, can ya use this?" he pulls out a spare tube and a pump. As I walked over to his car, I noticed a sharp looking Italian road bike in the back.

I thanked him, and set to work changing out the tube. As I worked we talked cycling. His name is Alex and he is from the Virgin Islands. Wheel off, tire off, tube out, check tire, tube in. As I am inflating the freshly changed tube, I suddenly hear "tsssssss". "What happened mon?" The dork that I am, I was so busy chatting with my new friend that I forgot to check if the tube was seated properly and I had left a section of tube pinched between the bead of the tire and the rim. At this moment as I am standing there in utter disgust and embarrassment, all my gear, tools, upside-down bike spread out on the side of the road.

At this moment another cyclist totally kitted out on a brand new full carbon BMC enters stage right. He slows and loops back. "So what's the problem here?" I explained the situation with some shame. He responds, "My ex-wife got a flat on her bike, she called AAA." "Mon, did they come?" "I don't know, she's my ex-wife" He proceeded to grab the wheel out of my hand and berate me as he fixed my tire, providing me with yet another tube, As he was working I asked "What do you do for a living bust people's chops?" "I am a freelance movie producer." "That totally figures." "See this is why the big boys use full finger gloves" he said as he pushed the tire into place without any tools. He used his CO2 inflator and within 4 minutes he was done. "Your tire is shot you need to go out and buy three tires and four tubes, rotate your tires as they wear, and always carry a tube." All I could do was nod and thank him.

He took off, I thanked Alex again and offered a few bucks for the waisted tube. "No man, it's cool. You can help some one. What comes around goes around." Put put my bike back together and made it to work without further incident. As an epilogue to this tale I went to REI and used my dividends for a new set of 28mm Continental Gatorskin Tires. 28mm is for sure the way to go much smoother ride.

Sharing the Way

As I mentioned in my last post, I celebrated Earthday at Polliwog Park in Manhattan Beach. One of the booths was proffering free copies of a magazine entitled "Momentum". As you might guess this is a publication for cyclists. Unlike many cycling magazine covers featuring lycra clad men grimacing under strain of epic rides, the current issue of "Momentum" features a couple of alternative looking (one has a bit of red dye in her hair) young ladies sporting floral dresses and a guitar on a vintage tandem. While a bit light on content (like this blog) it is nice to have a free magazine with articles on real cycling, cycling advocacy, product reviews, and ads for cool stuff I need to know about so I can want.

From this magazine, I learned that the recently added markings on Hermosa Avenue in Hermosa Beach, are called "sharrows", and that "sharrows" have just been deemed official symbols for roadway marking in the US.

I also learned that there are very few municipalities using this symbol. When they appeared on my daily route a few months ago, I thought "oh nice, a picture of bike where I ride my bike, that makes me feel good about riding my bike". These symbols did not have any effect on how people where using their cars, but I was not expecting that they would.

A few weeks latter I noticed that along this road they had also put signs that say "BICYCLES MAY USE FULL LANE". While that is nice, it is not very realistic. The idea behind the "sharrow" is that cyclists and cars are to "share" the roadway. This is exactly what I do all of the time on every street that I ride. For a lone cyclist sharing the road is a matter of survival. Me using a full lane on Hermosa Ave is a nice idea but it really does not happen.

However,the change I have made is to obey the other traffic signals on this section of road with more diligence. For example, coming to an (almost) complete stop at stop signs. I figure if they are going to give me a lane and treat me as a serious means of transportation then I had better stop acting like the outlaw stepchild and be serious transportation. Now I am not saying I never role a stop sign in a quiet neighborhood with good visibility. I'm not saying I do not split lanes in heavy traffic. But at least on Hermosa Avenue, I try to behave better as I am being treated better. Well, at least there are pictures of bicycles on the road.

I have also notice these "sharrows" showing up in other places.

Am I to "share this metal vent thing with other vehicles? Really, passing with care is message we all can use. As Luke Skywalker says in "The Empire Strikes Back" : "I Care"

eh yeah kind of dorky...

Racing Home

Unlike say walking or running, when you ride a bike, you can actually get somewhere useful in a reasonable amount of time. It takes me about an hour to ride 16 miles home from work each day. An average speed of… well 16 miles per hour; not very fast but respectable. Some days it takes a little longer; head winds, traffic lights, taking the time to interact with other cyclists or picking up two green enchilada plates from La Playita, all can add to the overall time required to get home. Now I do not have a speedometer, or bike computer, and I only rarely time my ride. I found myself becoming a slave to the clock and I know if I had a bike computer I would for sure become a a freak about my cadence, speed and any other facts those little gadgets spit out. I love to ride my bike and while I have done it professionally, (I was messenger in Boston back in the day) I'v never been a racer. I am not very fast and not very competitive, or so I thought.

Since I have been commuting I have noticed this thing where I see a cyclist ahead of me, and I pick up my pace. I know this is foolish. One should find ones pace and stick to it. Yet there I am, pouring it on to catch whoever is ahead of me.

Where does this come from? Nine times out of ten it turns out to be an older guy on a expensive road bike and I end up feeling bad about passing him with my single speed. I mean if it is a young guy, or even a kind of not so young, but has not actually figured that out yet guy like me, it would be ok but those guys are more likely to be zipping past me.

This brings me to The Blue Rider. For over a year on any given evening, I have been passed on the way home by a guy on a dark blue single speed. It is a nice bike. Modern corm-mo steel frame, flat bars, no frills. Now being passed is one thing, but this guy tears past me. I have on several occasions tried pursuit, and was left panting in the dust. The Blue Rider is fast. This lead me to thinking less than nice thoughts about him. The nefarious Blue Rider creeping up behind me on the bike path with his rather bright headlight casting weird shadows of my form in the darkness. Then he pounces. He is next to me not even long enough for a greeting (and none is offered) and then off into the night leaving me to stare at his Cat Eye tail light winking mockingly at me.

On one occasion we were waiting together at a traffic signal. He was all looking off and ignoring me. I even asked "How's it going?". No response. That is just not done. The Blue Rider… my nemesis.

A few days ago he nipped past me as I slowed for the light at Abbot Kinney and Venice. I followed in hot pursuit, but was losing ground. He snapped the left onto Marr St. I followed but hooked a right on the little foot-path that connects you through to Mildred, a short cut. He took Oxford. We arrived at the light at Washington simultaneously. The light changed promptly and he got off ahead of me. This is where I pick up the official Southbay Bike Path. "That's it, I'm not racing, this guy's just jerk anyhow" I told myself. I kind of let him go. As we approached the next intersection at Admiralty Way, he slowed as the light was against us.

I caught him at the light. We stood in silence, waiting. Then I spoke out "Nice day." The Blue Rider double took as he turned his head and said in quiet voice "Yeah" This was not the snarl of an evil opponent, this was an almost shy voice. "I see you out here pretty often." I continued. "Yeah every night" he replied. I nodded "You sure are fast.". He shrugged sheepishly and said "My wife, she gets mad if I don't get home on time." We laughed and with that the light changed. He was off opting for the smoother but heavily trafficked Admiralty Way. I took my time on the bike path and where it comes back out on Fiji Way I could see The Blue Rider off in the distance. Racing home.

The Bike Dork Goes to Court

Recently I received a notice for jury duty. Though I was not stoked, I was glad to be called to serve in Torrance, a few miles from my house. A quick ride. It is a few miles that I am glad I don't ride every day. The main streets in the Southbay are wide and drivers tend to take advantage of this by traveling at 50 or 60 mph. I just do not like that sucking feeling, as they whiz by.

With my bike securely locked to the nearly empty rack out front, I got in the line to enter the court house. The security is like the airport except you can keep your shoes on. My messenger bag however piqued their curiosity, and my Park Tool 15mm wrench/ bottle opener had to be checked at the door. This is the kind of silliness we come to expect from the authorities who protect us. One can not get upset about it.; better to just be nice to folks who have the the job of dealing with people who carry tools.

The jury waiting room and the courtroom itself where rather dank and chilly so left my dorky yellow jacket on. Full on Bike Dork. At least I had the sense to lock my helmet with my bike, and roll my pant leg down.

I would be a good juror. I have watched quite a few episodes of Perry Mason. I see how it all works. However at about 4:00 pm, on the second round of culling out bad jurors, The prosecutor cut me loose. At first I was relived; the case was likely to take 10 days or more. My work does not pay for jury duty. Then I thought "why me?" Was it my jacket? The only guy in the room in a safety yellow jacket... Or perhaps it was my chiding the defense lawyer for "dancing around" the issue with his civics 101 questioning. Of course your client is innocent until proven guilty. It was also stunning to see how many potential jurors did not get this basic American concept.

Though i did not get chosen, jury duty is no joke.The case was felony murder. It took my breath away to see this kid, he could have been one of my friends from MDL in Haiti. Made me think about the choices we make every day.

Stiff headwind on the way home. As I write this I realize I forgot to reclaim my wrench!

Dogh! What a Dork.

The Angry Dork

There is nothing more unbecoming of a person than a public display of anger. I am not talking about the anger one might express over some great social injustice, for example despotic regimes, racism, or even killing baby seals. I am instead writing of the type of self absorbed anger that comes from within. Road rage would be a good example. The person in front of ME is not going as fast as I would like. That person is texting and putting on mascara while driving... the nerve!

Or as I experienced this very evening: a driver cutting ME off, even though I signaled my turn, have flashing head and tail lights, bright reflective ankle strap, crazy reflectors on my helmet, a bright yellow (and totally dorky) vest. And this infraction at the end of my 15.8 mile commute turning onto MY street.

Pissed I was... yes, I allowed the dark side of the force to control me for a moment and I started to chase the offending vehicle up my street. I watched as my neighbor turned into their driveway and thought "love your neighbor as yourself" Ugh. What could be worse than an angry dork... an angry elf?

I love riding. Also on this same night I saw someone walking a bike with a rear flat. they had a backpack and a fishing pole coming from the bridge over the creek. A lot of folks fish in the Ballona Creek. I would not want to eat this fish, some do. Anyway I turned back and offered to make things right with the tire flatness. Wheel off, tire off, find puncture, patch... oops my glue is all dried out and hard as a rock. Now just today on Bike Snob NYC he mentioned the old dollar bill wrapped around the tube trick. Snobby has never steered anything wrong I am sure though I think he was referencing some dorks touring on fixed (dork) bikes in Japan.

Why not try it I thought to myself. Here I am looking like a total dork, "Here I'll help you out. I have everything you need in my capacious pannier." (yes it is a big bag). everything except a viable tube of glue. Kneeling there with mucilage on my face, I decided to go with the dollar bill wrapped around the tube. It held air. At least better than without, hopefully enough for this lady to get home. She had not caught any fish and said, "I was going to have rice and fish for dinner, now just rice. Well as long as I can get home for American Idol."

Glad to help,

The Bike Dork

Yes A Dork

It is clear to me that those who choose to ride a bicycle on a regular basis, and in any way make that choice a part of their identity are dorks. You roadies may think you look cool atop glistening carbon in multicolored lycra, but ask any you zip past and they will assure you that you are a dork. the same goes for MTB riders with full suspension, 29ers etc. Fixie riding hipsters... need I say more.

Then there is me, the commuter, the ultimate in cycle-dorkdum. With my fluorescent sticker festooned helmet, yellow safety vest, cargo-shorts (worn over bibs), on a painstakingly curated crappy 10-speed to single-speed conversion. I know the beautiful people of Los Angeles blush with shame as I slip past their Audi A4s on Abbot Kinney Way, thinking "This should not BE in our fair city." (more likely it is just "annoying twit on a bike!")

You can see that I am even proud of this dorkyness. It is true, so proud of my 30+ miles a day that I will wedge it into any conversation. For example: "Sushi... oh yeah i picked up some great sushi on my RIDE home the other night." Which will lead inevitably to me boasting about my pannier capacity. My what big bags you have.

I do love to ride and as I am at it a couple of hours a day most days of the week, it gets some top billing in my mental processes. I think I could share this and other thoughts in a blog...

So here it is, my first entry in "The Bike Dork"

Thanks