Transport

Sorry about the inadvertent product placement; I couldn't resist a shot of everyone snuggled into the pannier for the trip over to the garden... Could be worse than Timbuk2, I s'pose. 'Twas a bumpy ride, but the berries and tomatoes and marigolds got along just fine in their close quarters.

Soon, I Promise!

One of the very real perils of a housewarming party is that things get put away and then you can't find them anymore. I've been taking pictures galore for purposes of posting about my early spring (still sprinterwing around here, actually) attempts and getting around on my bike, but in my gallant efforts to make the apartment presentable for the party, I put the camera cable somewhere really safe.

But I found it, yesterday while I was pacing around trying to be helpful with a client on the phone. So now I've got a bunch of catching up to do - a quilt of threatening clouds over Mackworth Island, a couple of brave tomato plants in my underused panniers, and more.

Also, I'm going to document the next round of sprouts (mung bean, that is, which J. found out we could grow in the dark) because I'm so impressed that we pulled it off, even though it's not that hard. I got obsessive about removing the hulls. But anyway, like I said, soon.

Peace with renting

This is a new endeavor I thought I'd take on. Instead, you know, of being perpetually dismayed and exasperated by my squattish status. I'll let you know how it goes.

I'm currently being challenged by ants. I have never lived anywhere that ants like to hang out, and I assure you, I am not handling it well. I like wandering about in bare feet, and I can't stand the thought of walking in ants. J. tells me that they're not coming in for a REASON, they just lived here first, but it seems to me as though they'd be happier hanging out under the deck where there's sand they can build stuff with. When they come in here all they get is stepped on.

But I digress. I went out on my bike the other day, to get a feel for the new route to work. I was rewarded by a sighting of this bumper sticker, on a Subaru that parks at the end of the street:




Wouldn't THAT be something. And here's what Portland looks like just before it decides it's time for spring:


All gray and stick-y. But wide-open and promising nonetheless...

Not Worm-Related After All

I'm still gathering up the courage to admit that I lost a lot of worms in our move, though it was only partially my fault. But I'll get to that soon.

In the meantime, check this out - a font with holes in it, to save ink! Designed in Europe, of course, by the Dutch: "After Dutch holey cheese, there now is a Dutch font with holes as well." I'm not sure what the "after" is for in that sentence, but I enjoy the sentiment. They also point out (no pun intended) that less is more.

On my screen, you have to increase the size to 30 points to see the holes. I haven't tried printing yet, but I don't anticipate that they will show up in the little guys.

Plus, the website is pretty and simple.

And the download is smooth. I started to panic because I don't know how to install a new font, but this just required a dragging into a folder. I got it done in about 55 seconds.

I'm not sure whether I should be concerned or grateful, or both, that this is the sort of thing that makes me jump around for joy. Holes in font.

A New Wrinkle

Inspired by the blog Homesteading in a Condo (link at right), I find myself inspired to do a bit more writing about my adventures in worm composting, and perhaps whatever version of gardening we figure out for the coming season in our new apartment. I didn't feel like creating a whole new blog, and there are some threads of spirit and personality shared by the worms and the questions of walking, driving, cycling, etc. I promise I will title and tag well in case you want nothing to do with the worms. Though I will also try to win you over. And now off I go to my first worm post.

The True Cost of Inflation

In honor of March Green Streets Day...

It's not that I don't know that I'm supposed to check the tire pressure regularly, and reinflate when necessary. Nor that I can't tell when the pressure is low. Nor that I don't know that it's costing fuel and money to drive around with insufficient pressure. As many times a day as I get into my car I think "that tire really does look low; I should really stop and fill it up."

It's just, and this is going to sound ridiculous, that I so very much hate when I don't know what I'm doing. I've been driving for nearly 20 years, and I've used air hoses and pressure gauges so few times that I have to learn all over again each time. I can't stand the thought of someone pulling into the gas station behind me and seeing that I have no idea whether or not I've parked the car close enough for the hose to reach, never mind how to operate the hose. You're probably wondering (as I know I am) why on earth I would care about the opinion of strangers stopping for gas. Heaven knows they have other things to concern themselves with than my antics at the inflation station. But it just makes me want to crawl out of my skin. Especially when it's something that might appear on a list of Things Women Would be Less Likely than Men to Know How to Do.

So this morning when I woke up at 6:30, everyone else was asleep, and I didn't have to be at my office until 9:30 for an unusual weekend session, I saw my chance. I wouldn't be likely to encounter too many folks out in the early hours of a dull overcast March Saturday. I could bumble around in relative solitude.

What I didn't count on was that the air hose apparatus at the Cumberland Farms near my office was in the corner of the parking lot where they shoved all the snow over the course of this rather snowy winter. And in amongst the several storms' worth of snow was a great deal of trash. As if I wasn't discouraged enough already, I had to pick through cigarette butts and smashed beverage bottles and general muck. And I was wearing pants that are a little too long, so I had to do it on my toes.

Don't worry. I persevered. I pulled as close as I could to the hose and then before inserting the quarters hauled the scummy thing all the way to each of the rear tires to be sure it would reach. As I checked for length, I also tried to inspect the nozzle and figure out how to work it without looking directly at it. That would have given me away. And it worked. None of the zero other people in the parking lot were on to me. I'm sure of it. I was that sly.

But I thought I remembered that there should be a gauge on the end of the hose, and I couldn't find one. Fortunately, I was temporarily overcome with a small dose of reasonableness, which led me inside to ask the two women working behind the register if there was in fact a gauge on the hose. Why I'm willing to sound like I have no idea what I'm doing when I'm unwilling to look like I have no idea what I'm doing, I could not tell you. Yes, they told me, it does. Without the slightest hint of condescension. (These are the times when it's handy that I can pass for much younger than I am. Oh, how cute, they were probably thinking. She's finally saved up enough for a car, and she's inflating the tires for the first time!)

So I tiptoed back to the hose, slid my three quarters in. It was then that I remembered how they teach you in drivers' ed to remove the little caps beFORE you pay to start the air clock. In a hurry, I managed to spin the first cap so quickly that it flung off into oblivion, coming to rest somewhere amongst the slushy detritus. The compressor howled away in the background, eating time. I fumbled next with the nozzle, wondering what the sticking out part was for and why the gauge kept reading 20. I was supposed to get the tires up to 30 psi. I did, of course, remember what psi stands for, because that is the sort of thing I'm good at. Remembering words. That came in extremely handy under these circumstances. So the compressor's carrying on, thunk, thunk, thunk, and I'm totally helpless and the tire keeps having 20 psi in it. Something inspired me to squeeze the little swathe of metal that all of you responsible tire filler-uppers know is the one that allows air to actually flow into the tire; the one you release in order to encourage the gauge to pop out and tell you how much air there is in there NOW. Eureka! By now about 2.75 of my 3 minutes of air time were gone, so I had to start talking myself into laying down another 3 quarters so I could inflate the other three tires as well. I was pretty sure that if the first one I arrived at was only 2/3 full, and the last time I remembered handling an air hose was somewhere around 1998, it was safe to say the others could use a few pounds too.

I didn't have enough of the right kind of change, of course, so I got to make another trip inside with my two nickels, dime, and five pennies. They were nice, again, even checking to be sure they didn't give me a Canadian quarter the machine would have ignored.

This time I was in good shape. Removed all the caps, took a deep breath, fed the machine, finished the other three tires, and found myself a little disappointed that it was over so fast. I returned the hose to its hook, dug around behind tire #1 where I found the missing cap, and then decided probably my hands could use washing. Back inside. I mention this only because I thought it was quite rude that the machine still hadn't turned off by the time I got back to the car, as though to tell me in no uncertain terms that if I could walk into the store, find the bathroom, wash my hands, and come back in three minutes, I surely could have managed to inflate the tires in as much time.

Phew.

I honestly think I'm getting a little more oxygen today than I was getting yesterday.

I'm writing on this one because I managed to talk myself out of driving today though all indications were that I should. I was to leave the office at 2:30 for a 3:15 interview in town. Had I actually done so (leave at 2:30) I'd have had plenty of time to drive home, grab a few bites of lunch, dress up, and walk over. Enter parent running late for pick-up. I didn't leave until 2:40, and got home at the exact moment I needed to leave for the walking plan.

Fortunately, it's very hard to park downtown and I wasn't sure it would actually end up quicker. I snuck quickly into my fancy clothes, hacked a hunk of cheese off the block, grabbed my resume, and thought I was out the door. Shoes. I can't walk in my dress shoes. Especially not fast. So I threw them in my bag and shoved my feet into my Keens. Heavier load, less back pain.

I did make, it, though I then spent several minutes walking up and down the stairs when a door that was supposed to be open for me seemed locked. (Now that's deep if you read it a certain way.)

All in all, an unremarkable excursion. I post it only because I was proud to have pulled it off, and without having to do too too much hurrying. Next time, I'll leave a little more time.

will power, or something

I almost didn't go today - had all my gear on, stepped outside into the muggy sprinkling slug of a morning and thought "I've been riding so much lately. Maybe it'd be better to take this one off." Then I tried reminding myself of how much money I'd save. That one never works because gaswise, even at $4.00 a gallon, my little hop skip and jump commute in a Honda Civic doesn't amount to much in fuel consumption terms. Then I tried to remind myself how it's good exercise. But we were on our feet all weekend, entertaining the family, except for in the early mornings when I was riding around on my bike because it was cooler outside than in. I couldn't seem to get myself to latch on to any of my usual pep methods, so I resorted to the old Do It Anyway approach. It's actually more like Stop Being Such a Wuss It's Only 4 miles.

To tell you the truth, it was a pretty unpleasant ride, but one unusual thing happened that was helpful. In the homestretch, half a mile or so from the office, there was a span of 30 or 40 seconds in which I couldn't hear any cars anywhere. Just the quiet turning of my own tires.

I also got to dodge an actual banana peel in the road, which caused me great enjoyment.

Happy trails...

The Wet and Drear

I think it may be time for me to take the leap to foul weather riding. This whole week has been and plans to be dreary, wet, cold, with what they like to call Isolated Thunderstorms, which means Don't Bother to Try to Plan Anything Outside. It wouldn't really be New England without the ITs, but it's still a bit of a nuisance.

Until now I've only been riding on these perfect late spring days, which means I don't have to contend with the wet and dirt on either end of the trip, when I stow the machine in our living room or the waiting room of the office. But now that I'm getting better at riding in traffic, like a big girl, it may be time to find another challenge to take on. Boy, do I not like learning new tricks.

Onward

We're headed out to one of the islands in the bay in a moment, a delayed birthday excursion, but I had to sign in real quick to whine about wind. Actually, to note that from now on I hope I remember to check not only the temperature and expected precipitation, but also wind. My ride to the office is easy, short, practically nothing at all to anyone who rides EVER, but today, the wind made the 3 and a halfish miles feel to this green green like dozens. Not to mention all the junk that I had to expel from my eyeballs once I finally stumbled in the door, having taken twice the time I usually do. And the wheezing.

You get the idea. I almost turned back, but by then, fortunately, I didn't really have time to stash my bike and still be sure I'd get to the office in time by car. So on I slogged, and was rewarded with an only breezy and phenomenally beautiful return trip.

I'm still having trouble trusting the cars...

Back on the Seat

I missed Green Streets day on Friday, thanks to a nasty cold that wouldn't let go, but I made up for it yesterday with a record 19-minute dash to the office in 73 degree weather.

For the record, I rode in traffic the whole way, except for on the part of the route which includes an actual bike/pedestrian path (as distinct from a sidewalk). I remain unconvinced that I was safer there on the congested stretch of Congress Street than I'd have been on the sidewalk. I became convinced, however, of the far greater efficiency of riding in traffic. Those bricks are bumpy, and of course there's all the actual pedestrians out for which to look.

It's been raining since that yesterday morning jaunt, and I have to admit, I was a little disappointed when I looked out the window today to find less encouraging riding weather...

First Lilacs

They actually had to pretty much bonk me on the head for me to notice that they're finally opening up. I wouldn't even have remembered it was time for them, except that there were some wide open and tossing their odiferous selves all over the place in Cambridge over the weekend.

On this ride (technically yesterday), I got brave and rode with the traffic on the congested part of my route. Speaking of technicalities, I wouldn't actually call it brave. I got some help from a woman with a trailer and child in tow. I met her at a cross street where I guiltily slunk down off the sidewalk and waited behind her to get back on and use the street properly. It reminded me of waiting in line to jump in when we used to play double dutch in elementary school. You have to sort of bond with the traffic as it whizzes by until finally it's time to slip into one of the spaces between.

"It's a lousy road," she said. "You just have to take up a lane and let 'em go around you." But what if they DON'T, I couldn't help thinking, though I just nodded and raised my eyebrows as though I did this every day. I fell in behind her when she pulled out, letting her be my training wheels. And the cars did go around us.

I'm thinking maybe I should get a trailer to haul around just so I'd take up more space and be harder to miss (sight-wise, that is). Or maybe this would be a good reason to have kids?

I got there lots faster, incidentally. It apparently takes a long time to wait for walk signals at intersections and then push your bike across. Plus I'm pretty sure I could hear the people in the cars (who were likely experienced, savvy, and cool cyclists themselves) rolling their eyes at me. I'm pretty sure most everyone spends most of their time paying attention to how cool I do and don't look.

But I'm makin' progress. Here's a pic from along the way, and the tulips, for good measure.

One of Those ...Days

I'd be heavily remiss were I not to post today, being it some sort of ride your bike day, nationally speaking, so here I am. Sadly, in order to make it to Cambridge in time for my haircut without foregoing my last billable hour of the week, in a week of few such hours, I shall not be riding. It's a darn shame, considering the weather. We don't get much actual spring in these parts, so these days of sun and dryish warmth are few. But, you know, hair has always been a priority of mine.

I'll make up for it next week, though, come what may. And there are photos to come as well, I promise. I just need to get schooled in it. Proper photo-posting, that is.

Sweet riding, any who so endeavor today.

A Headwind and A Recurring Theme

I set out on two wheels this morning thanks to an uncharacteristic (but nonetheless very real) traffic jam on Congress Street yesterday afternoon. The sign outside of those Charles Street condos that haunted Storrow Drivers for years popped into my brain, amended as follows: If you were on your bike, you'd be home now.

Also, there was the promise of 63 degrees and sun. So off I went. You see where this is going. I wound my way peacefully through the neighborhood and out onto the bike path that winds along the river only to be met by a furious wind, throwing sand in my eyes and ache in my ears. Oh, I thought to myself. This is the real test. I hadn't had to fight the wind before and oy, it's way harder.

It reminded me of something that seems to be coming up a lot lately. Last night I was talking to the librarian about the neighborhood protest of the proposed branch closing. He was talking about how impressed he was with the showing and organization at the protest. "Isn't it funny," he said, "how we liberal, intelligentsia types don't really show up until our backs are right up against a wall?" I'd been thinking a similar thing a few days earlier. I hadn't ever looked at a city budget proposal until they threatened to take the library away. We may yet lose it, a cruel demonstration of the high cost of cluelessness.

And a few days before that, I found myself waffling about whether or not to submit an application for the choreographer's showcase that the Portland Ballet puts on every summer. It wasn't until I discovered that the VCR wasn't playing nicely with the video camera that I went into high gear, racing all over town looking for ways to get the situation sorted out, forgetting entirely my ambivalence and apprehension about the whole thing. Just like when my trig teacher said, after a few weeks of, at best, lackluster performance on quizzes, "you know, maybe trig is just more than you want to take on as a math student." You can probably guess how that ended.

Throw a roadblock up in front of me and I transform into an unstoppable accomplishment machine. When there's nothing in the way, though, good luck getting me to do much of anything.

A few words on hair...

My hands are still a little shaky from my Second Ride of the Week, so I apologize for any errant letters or other imperfections...

Jon asked me yesterday what on earth I could be blogging about that had to do with riding my bike to work, and the first example I gave was helmet head. I have lots to say about that. In Jon's honor, I decided to do a little experiment this morning, once I learned that I had a serious case of product-induced bedhead. I will be posting a series of photos, once I learn how to do it, that document said experiment. 'Twill be a sight to behold, I assure you. Here's the spoiler: helmets do not necessarily "cure" bedhead, as one might hypothesize.

Yesterday's Ride

I'm supposed to be a writers' group right now, but I rode my bike to work yesterday and I've been dying to write about it ever since. But all these things kept happening and this is the first second I've had to actually do it.

It wasn't that special a trip, really, but the thing was that I almost didn't do it. I'd planned on it, knowing that it'd be sunny and warmish, but then I woke up overwhelmed by the day and all there was in it, particularly the heartache associated with the impending closing of our neighborhood library, and as the time approached by which I'd have to leave in order to make it on time by bike, the ride seemed less and less likely.

And then somehow I rallied. It was really like my legs knew something my brain didn't. (Go figure.) The whining in said brain was piercing as I scrambled around trying to make up the time lost to moping, pumping the tires, smashing the helmet down over the earflapped hat (it wasn't all that warm, after all). I DON'T WANNA! was the gist of it.

I got out there, slung myself over the seat, and I was off. The river was fogged in, and the traffic was out in droves for my first rush hour ride, and my legs weren't really up for it, but I got there, and I spared myself a few miles in the less-than-stellar loaner I'm driving while my car's in the shop.

And, yes, I lost track of being overwhelmed by the day. By the end of it, we were out with the rest of the neighborhood letting the local TV folk know we don't intend to let it go quietly. (I haven't actually seen the footage, because I don't have the right video player, so you may actually see my silly mug if you get the clip to play.) We don't know if we're any closer to keeping the library, but I was glad to know I wasn't the only one who would miss it. The kids made the best signs, of course.

Bike Rack on the Bus

The other day I caught a glimpse of a bike on one of the Metro bus racks, and I thought to myself: "that could be really helpful. But I would feel like such a jerk holding up the bus the first time I tried to do it, making everyone late and attracting vicious sneers upon mounting the steps, (assuming I ever actually figured out how to make it work), that I will probably never take advantage of it."

Fortunately, one of the following must be true: I am not the only person who thinks this way, there are people who know that I think this way, or there are people with extra time on their hands who just like making videos that might somehow aid in increasing bike transit, because LOOK!!!!

Fewer and fewer excuses...

Relativity

As it turns out, walking to work yesterday was a great idea because not only was it a nice way to spend the first hour of the day, it was also a good way to realize that riding my bike would be much easier. (Until yesterday, I was always comparing riding to driving, and for this slovenly character, that was a tough sell.) As I made my way slowly along my route, my shoes started to rub my heels the wrong way, and as the boredom ebbed and flowed, I found myself thinking about how much more quickly it would go were I on my bike. I also discovered that it was not, as I had anticipated, as much less stressful walking than biking. One of my major complaints (and there are more to come, I assure you) about biking in the city, even this little tiny one, is that the intersections offer so many opportunities for disaster that the ride is never all that pleasant what with the constant worry about what’s coming from which direction. You'd think I'd have done enough walking to know better than to think this wouldn't be the case when you’re on foot as well. I just really like how much easier it is to respond quickly to vehicular surprises when I'm not suspended precariously above the ground.

So I rode to work today, and the payoff was more than just the satisfaction of having left the car in the driveway. I'll get into my complaints in more volume and depth soon.

Launch

Yes, that's me. I'm lazy about lots of things, but this one is among my most contradictory. I love the idea of not driving. I even love not driving. But I don't like to have to replace it with things that take, you know, any time or effort. Now that Sarah's got the Portland Green Streets chapter up and humming, though, and, let's face it, now that gas is $3.32 at the Cumby's on the corner, I'm having more trouble getting away with it with myself. My office is only 3.28 miles away, and I have a perfectly good bike, and I'm really not all that busy.

I thought it might be fun to document my commuting adventures - lord knows I need all the incentive I can get. I also like to talk about how lazy I am, because it makes it harder to miss out on good stuff as a result of it. Plus, funny things happen when I leave the car at home. It hasn't failed yet. (Three for three.)

At this particular moment I don't have much time in which to document, but I wanted to say that thanks to one of the kiddos I work with, whom I promised I'd get myself to work on foot this morning, come hell or high water, that I did. Walk. And although my heels were a little raw by the time I got there, thanks to a poor choice of socks and a winter's hiatus from sneaker wearing, it was a gorgeous walk in 40 degree weather and an awful nice way to spend the first hour of the day. (No, I didn't leave at midnight. I just meant the first hour of the day out and about.)

(Please comment on the readability of the color scheme.)