Reason Not the Need

It all happened so fast.

When it finally happened.  For weeks we have been discussing our own “pandemic cleanup” instincts.  We identified a few items of furniture: a tray table, a child crib used by grandkids who are now going on 14 and 12, and some of the bikes in our garage.

Twin tube bike like Jane’s

Of the latter, I’ve heard it quipped that the correct number of bikes to own is one fewer than will cause a divorce.  In that case, it’s the number 5 in our marriage.  And Jane also had her own bike—entirely unused for more than a decade—hanging on the garage wall.  It was an old style frame that she’d had since childhood, a nice red “girl’s bike,” meaning it had clearance for a skirt, which it was assumed that any female would want to wear while cycling.  The “diagonal tube” was not a single tube at all, but two thin tubes that split to go on either side of the seat tube and converge with the seat stays and chainstays to support the rear axle.  The gears were shifted by two levers on the handlebar stem.



Bianchi Squadra, how I fell in love with thin tires

As for my bikes, I gave up riding anything except the Jamis Coda Comp after my prostate cancer in 2015.  I had put on enough weight to make riding the Trek 2.1 problematic, as well as the old classic Bianchi Squadra, a beautiful pink road bike of Andrew’s painted to match the leader’s jersey of the Giro d’Italia.  The Trek and the Bianchi may have become off-limits at present, but they are keepers.  My own older bikes, a Fuji SE and a Specialized Hardrock, had seen many miles of road in the years I’ve had them (1995 for the Specialized and 2003 for the Fuji).  I estimate that I logged a total of at least 15,000 miles on them, and aside from the Bianchi they were my only rides until the Jamis (2004) and Trek (2009).  I later tried fixing up the Specialized as a “commuter bike” to run errands and go shopping, but that usage never became a steady part of my riding habits.  But the Specialized and Fuji were old friends.  Upright posture, steady handling; in my younger days, when I was 55 or so, I could on occasion wring out a 16 mph ride to Herndon and back on the Specialized.  Old friends, in their relative klunkiness they absorbed a lot of sweat and strenuous effort, and got me ready to fall in love with thin tires when I inherited the Bianchi.


Fuji SE, old friend now departed.

But no 81-year-old who seldom gets on any bike anymore needs five bikes.  And when our newest ride, a 2019 Audi A6, came on the scene, the bike rack on that side of the garage made parking precarious.  So the discussion was about which bikes to jettison.  Jane’s, the Fuji, and the Specialized drew short straws, as did the motley collection of backup wheels, tubes and tires hanging on the bike racks.  But that was idle “some day” talk.  After checking haul-away prices, we tried to give away the furniture: the old, weathered, but elegant colonial tray table, my parents’ double bed for the last 13 years of their marriage with antique posts and old-wood headboard, the newish and lightly used crib.  No takers.  And I mean NO takers.  Not in the NextDoor neighborhood website.  Not by the curb with a “FREE for the taking” sign.

And then this week the electric lawn mower died.  The on/off switch, precariously linked to an orange handle that had to be held in, started cutting out in mid-mow, thanks in part to the fact that the silly fragile plastic handle broke and had to be taped together to make the machine run at all.

The new Black and Decker 20” electric mower was ordered Monday from Home Depot, and delivered free by FedEx so quietly on Thursday that only a text message told us that it was in front of the garage door.  No tools needed for assembly, except a box cutter to cut the carton for a rollout.  And so yesterday morning we folded up the old mower and put it by the curb with the trash.  Having done some research we realized it might not get taken away; the trash company, in an apparent conflict of interest, also runs a trash hauling service, and for $225 and up they will haul off a number of items.  Used to be they’d do a special pickup of one item for $35, but no more.  So when they passed by and left not only an empty barrel but a dead Homelite mower, we knew the time had come.  Most junk haulers will not give a quote or define their rates online, so we expected some phoning would be necessary.  Yet shortly after leaving our info online with a local referral service, we got a call.  The guy wanted a relatively reasonable price for the whole lot: crib, bed frame, mower, three bikes.  And he could be there in 35 minutes!  Crisis!  But no doubt we’d facilitate his schedule.  We pulled the bed out of the basement so he wouldn’t have to go in the house, put everything else out front, and then I raced off to the grocery store because it was the window of time to pick up our order.  When I got back less than 15 minutes later, the truck was in the driveway loaded and ready to leave.  About five sentences of pleasantries, in which the hauler said they were nice bikes and I agreed, saying just new tire tubes and de-rusted and re-oiled chains would make them fine again, and then our erstwhile possessions had been hauled away.

From first online inquiry to completion of the transaction had taken less than two hours.  No time to get sentimental or have second thoughts.  And I am glad that now all five of our rides—the Trek, the Bianchi, the Jamis, the A6, and the A3—have ample spaces of their own.

But it’s the abrupt end of an era.

©Arnold J. Bradford, 2020


Cyclist Assault on the W&OD

This never happens.  Sexual assaults?  There have been a few over the last 15 years. Collisions?  Of course.  Cyclists hit by vehicles at crossings?  Sadly, several.  Angry words exchanged?  Every day, I am sure, and several within my hearing.

But “road rage” attacks?  Never, until I heard this on the radio a couple of days ago:

A bicyclist was seriously injured Sunday on one of the area’s most popular bike trails when another cyclist reached out and struck him as they passed each other, authorities said.

It sounds horrible.  Somebody just reached over into the other lane and smacked another rider.

But wait; there’s more.  In the expanded Washington Post report, the story goes on [I disavow and deplore the painfully clunky prose you are about to read]:

According to the sheriff’s office, the victim was headed west and reportedly on the center line of the trail as he tried to pass two other cyclists. A cyclist going in the opposite direction purposely extended his arm and struck him on his helmet, the sheriff’s office said.

The westbound cyclist fell to the ground, the sheriff’s office said. The other cyclist rode off to the east, the sheriff’s office said, heading toward Ashburn Village Boulevard.

In a statement, the sheriff’s office said the suspect in what they described as an assault wore a white/light green shirt, a helmet and sunglasses, and was about six feet tall.

According to the office, his bicycle was said to resemble a time trial bike or a triathlon bike. The bars on the bike were “aero bars” and his helmet was an “aero” helmet covered with a sun shade that covered half his face, according to the statement.

Now it’s a whole different thing, right?  Clearly the “victim” was on the wrong side of the yellow line, not “on” it.  Check out the photo, taken at a place not far from the incident;


The W&OD Near Ashburn Village Boulevard

there’s not enough room on that section to pass without getting out of your lane.

So it is easy to infer that the “suspect”, the tri-bike guy with the white/light green jersey and the aero helmet, was faced with a speeding cyclist coming at him on his side of the trail, passing other bikes headed in his direction on their proper side of the trail.  He had no place to go except way over to the edge or off the trail.  The shoulder varies in width and quality, but it’s never a good place to be forced onto at a second’s notice.  It’s easy for me to see why the “suspect” would want to smack the “victim,” or true assailant, who had put himself, the “suspect,” and others in harm’s way.  Not that I am condoning a deliberate attempt to injure another cyclist in any circumstances, but the “victim,” it would appear, got what was coming to him.

It was a Sunday afternoon.  It was a rare (for this spring) warm April day.  The cyclists being passed were probably going slowly.  They might well have been a family.  They, along with the dog walkers, the septuagenarian couples taking walks, the second graders being taught how to ride their bikes, the riders stopped on the trail to take a cell phone call, and the rest of the human comedy that occupies the Trail on nice weekend days, can’t be expected to know or follow the Trail Rules.  If regular riders want to get out there on days like that, they have to ride slowly.  Period.

So it’s a shame it happened, and I am glad such events are very rare.  Two guys trying to squeeze too much intensity out of a rare recreational moment.

But I bet I know one guy who’s not going to be wearing his light green kit, donning his aero helmet, or riding his tri-bike for a while out on the Trail.

Copyright Arnold J. Bradford, 2018